Since John
by Southen-Fried-Penguin
Summary: Ever since John became his flatmate, Sherlock has noticed a change in himself. And as their friendship grew stronger he notices that the way he views John has changed as well. Sherlock views this as a BIG problem...and his worry causes many hurdles that may damage his relationship with John beyond repair. How will John react when he learns the truth and others realize his weakness?
1. What to do?

The flat was quiet. Too quiet. He didn't know how long he had been laying on the couch, his hands steepled under his chin as was his habit when he was visiting his Mind Palace. All he knew was that he was no closer to solving his problem than when he started. And it was driving him bat-shit crazy.

He looked over at his skull sitting on the mantle. No help there. He tried talking to it earlier but all he got in return was an empty grin, as if it was mocking him of his troubles. He didn't know why he even bothers talking to it anymore. Ever since John moved into the flat with him, he had someone to bounce ideas off of that actually offered comments back. Or more specifically, either look at him like he was bloody brilliant or a perfect idiot. (He preferred the first, truth be told.)

Ever since John moved in he found that he was less and less bored than he was used to. Even between cases they had a comfortable companionship that seemed to lessen his need to be reckless. Whether it was going out to Angelo's, or ordering in their favorite Chinese and watching crap telly, Sherlock knew that he had found someone who was willing to accept him as he was and not try to change him. Oh sure, he still got lectures on his abysmal lack of social graces in a mixed setting and was regularly scolded about his never doing the shopping. And he rolled his eyes as he thought about the countless times that he and John had the "Solar System" conversation. (Seriously, will he ever let that go?!)

But John would always be John. Solid, dependable. Ready to drop everything for a case and follow him wherever Sherlock needed him to go. He was willing to fight at a moments notice; willing to kill for him if necessary. Yes, John was the perfect flatmate for him. Never judging him or his habits. Allowing him to continue experiments that would have others running for the hills by now (although he did apologize about blowing up the toaster last time. He even hid in his room while John cleaned up _**that**_ mess because he started using words that he's never heard him use before and he thought it safer just to stay out of the way.) John never complained about being woken up at 3 in the morning by his violin when he couldn't sleep and just needed to think. More often than not, he would turn around and see John standing in the kitchen in his housecoat, his sandy blonde hair standing up at all angles, with a look of wonderment on his face. After a time, he began playing composing more and more, just to see if he could get to John to show up. And he wasn't often disappointed.

He remembered one night, not long ago. His problem had been weighing on his mind for some time now and he supposed that his composition that night was more melancholy than he intended. But he couldn't help it. He simply closed his eyes, drew his bow, and allowed his fingers to say the words that he didn't dare to say aloud. It was cathartic in a way, but for some reason on that particular night, he couldn't stop the burning in his eyes, no matter how tightly he had them shut. So he decided to keep playing until it passed. And play he did, until his fingers were sore and his head ached. It must have been hours. He was so engrossed into his playing that he didn't hear John enter. He was even more surprised to turn around and see him sitting in his chair with a cuppa, thoroughly enraptured by the soulful music. But what shocked him the most was that tiny glisten in the corner of John's eye.

_No, it can't be….not John. _John was a soldier! He's seen his share of horror on the battlefield. And God knows that he's seen his share of death and destruction on the cases they've been on. He had a tight control of his emotions. So why was he here staring at him like that? He felt he had to say something. But before he could, John beat him to it.

"Why did you stop?"

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you John. I know you have work in the morning and you value your rest."

"Don't apologize Sherlock. That was bloody beautiful. What is it?"

"Nothing particular. I was just playing aimlessly."

"That wasn't 'nothing' Sherlock. I've heard you play dozens of times and it's never sounded quite like that. If I didn't know you any better, I'd say that was the most _emotion _I've ever seen you display."

"Oh don't be stupid, John! You know how I feel about sentiment."

"Still….even though you call yourself a genius, you don't just come up with something like that without there being some kind of feeling behind it. Care to tell me what's on your mind?"

"Is my blogger trying to merge into the realm of Psychiatry now?" _smirk "_Better stick to being a surgeon John. Better men than you have tried and given up."

"No I'm not trying to be a Psychiatrist. But I've been your flatmate for almost a year now, and I do consider myself your friend. And as your friend I've learned to read a few things about you. And right now I'm sensing that you have something heavy on your mind."

"Well I thank you for your concern, however unwarranted it may be. I assure you, I am fine. "

"I also know when you are being stubborn."

Sherlock just gave a small snort in response. John was right, of course. He was the only one who had ever learned to read him in a way no one else could. Sometimes it was a relief but more often than not it was a burden. He was just glad that John hadn't learned to read people the way that he could. Because right now, that was the last thing he needed. No, he needed to stay guarded. This was _his_ problem, and if he could help it, John would never know anything about it. So he went on the offensive.

"_I'm _stubborn? I'm not the one constantly going on dates with women who are nothing but boring narciscissitic idiots just looking for a free dinner."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized that it was probably the wrong thing to say. He watched as John's eyes narrowed and his shoulders slumped slightly. _Damn. _But before he could say anything further, he could see John's training kick in. Within a blink of an eye, he slipped on a passive mask, effecting hiding the hurt. _But dammit he knew! _He realized that John wouldn't acknowledge that careless remark. He'd been around him long enough to know that it wasn't intentional, it was simply his way of saying _back off. _Instead he watched as John slowly rose from his chair and approached him.

"All right, Sherlock. You win. We won't discuss this now. But you know that I worry about you. And as your friend, I feel it is my duty to remind you that anytime you need me, day or night, you know where to find me."

Sherlock just blinked. That wasn't what he expected at all. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to expect but _that _definitely wasn't it. For once, he was at a loss for words.

"Ah…oh…Yes I know. Thank you John."

"You're welcome."

As he spoke, John reached out and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He assumed he meant it as a comforting gesture, so he attempted to take it as such. Inside his mind however, he was running in circles. It was all he could do to give John slight smile in return.

"Goodnight John."

"Goodnight Sherlock."

John then turned and made his way up the stairs. On the one hand Sherlock was glad to see him go because it meant he could relax slightly. But on the other hand, John had barely closed his door before Sherlock realized that he already missed him, which brought him right back to his problem.

Sherlock didn't consider himself a possessive person. He learned back in the days when he was using that people couldn't be trusted. They never wanted to truly be his friend but merely used him as a means to an end to get their next fix. Truth be told, he used them the same way so it didn't really matter. Even Mycroft only seemed to come around when he needed "legwork" done in some god-forsaken country. But not John.

John genuinely cared. He cared whether he ate or not. There have been many a nights where Sherlock was curled up on the sofa when John came in late and assumed that Sherlock had fallen asleep. He simply threw an extra blanket on him, turned out the lamp and crept quietly upstairs so as not to disturb him, relieved that Sherlock was finally getting some much needed rest. But more often than not, he wasn't actually asleep. He simply pretended. He had begun to crave those little moments of attention that John showed him. Whether it's a look that John gives him when he solves a case in just a few hours, or the occasional "_Simply incredible" _muttered under his breath at a crime scene, Sherlock loved it. He began to try and find new ways to impress John. And it wasn't simply because he enjoyed the flattery. He'd gotten that often enough from Lestrade, and of course Molly. But in a way he felt he'd gotten that from them because they wanted something in return. But not with John. With John, he felt appreciated. He knew John meant each compliment sincerely. All those years when he was called "Freak" and felt out of place because of his abilities…..simply didn't matter to John. It was becoming an addiction to him. And the more that he craved it, the more he realized that he had started to care for John in return.

And it scared the hell out of him.

A noise brought him back to the present. He looked over just in time to see John stumble into the kitchen carrying some shopping bags. Without so much as glancing his way, John when through his routine of putting the shopping away and starting the kettle to boil. Sherlock felt the corners of his mouth begin to turn up slightly as he watched John take down two cups instead of just his. _Thoughtful John. _He decided to make a show of stretching before getting off the couch as though he was sleeping the entire time he was out. He made his way into the kitchen just as the kettle begin to whistle and watched John prepare his tea just the way he liked it. When John handed it to him he accepted it with a slight nod.

"Any new cases today?"

"Nothing worth our time. Lestrade phoned me earlier today with something that was barely a 4 so there was no point in accepting it."

"It still would have been something to do instead of just sitting here doing nothing all day."

"Who says I did nothing?"

"Come on, Sherlock. When I came in you were in the same position you were in when I left."

"Doesn't mean that I didn't do anything at all today."

"OK so what did you accomplish today?"

"I managed not to shoot the wall again in boredom."

"Well yeah I guess that's something." John said with a chuckle. "By the way, they had a sale going at Tesco's so I got you some of those chocolate biscuits you like."

John then placed a small plate in front of Sherlock with a few biscuits on it. Sherlock accepted one and bit into it appreciatively.

"Well then I guess it's my turn to make dinner plans. How about Angelo's tonight?"

"I'd love to Sherlock, but I actually have dinner plans already tonight."

"Oh really?"

"Remember Sarah? She's been having a hard time with some personal issues right now and I offered to take her out for dinner to get her mind off of them for a while."

"I see. Well I hope things go pleasant for you tonight then." Sherlock said tightly. He knew that John had every right to come and go as he pleased. But ever since his _problem_ started, he began to feel slightly upset whenever John went out on a date. He knew it made no sense. But it simply couldn't be helped.

"Yeah so do I, although I don't really consider this a date. Just being a friend. I shouldn't be out too late though. How about I call you on the way home and I can pickup some take-out for you?"

"That won't be necessary John. I'm sure that if I get hungry before you arrive home I can order something to be delivered."

"Alright then. Suit Yourself. I'm going to have a wash and get ready."

John then brought his cup over to the sink and rinsed it out. After putting it on the drying rack, he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Moments later, Sherlock heard the shower start running.

He grabbed another biscuit off of the plate and made his way to his laptop. After logging in, he began to read emails, hoping for another case to work on while John was away. If he didn't find something to occupy his mind while John was away, he knew exactly what he would be doing. And he wasn't looking forward to it at all.


	2. Reflection

The door of 221B closed behind John as he stepped into the dusk that was falling over London. A sharp wind curled around him as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself. The bistro where he was meeting Sarah wasn't too far away so he decided to walk there instead of trying to hail a cab. Besides, Sherlock was the only one who seemed able to catch one on the first try.

Sherlock...

What the hell has gotten into him anyway? He's used to Sherlock being stubborn and churlish, but this was different. He may not have the power of deduction like Sherlock, but he knew when someone was in mental anguish. Especially when that someone was his best friend.

John gave a little chuckle when he thought about what Sherlock would say about that. He would probably roll his eyes and go off half-cocked about sentiment " being a disadvantage " or some such bloody nonsense. He always had a way of putting off any kind of emotional output as "boring" but John knew better. It didn't take a degree in psychology to know when someone is hiding behind a well-placed facade. He also knew , better than anyone, that Sherlock's facade was earned. In the year they had been flatmates, he'd put bits and pieces together from different people to get a clearer picture into what made Sherlock Holmes tick. From the stories of his lonely childhood, to his never ending competition with his brother, to his darker days when Lestrade used to drag him out of London's most notorious drug dens...Sherlock definitely had his demons to fight. And they weren't all in his past either. Many a time John had to grasp a firm hold of his temper when he heard the insults and slurs mumbled under someone's breath at various crime scenes, from "freak" to "psychopath" to "junkie". But no matter how low on the totem pole they viewed Sherlock, it didn't stop them from accepting his help on a regular basis. And one of John's biggest pet peeves was hypocrites.

He paused at a crosswalk and waited with a small group of people for a clearing to cross. He glanced behind him and could bearly see the flat in the distance. If he didn't know better he could swear he saw the curtains move, as if someone was watching him. But that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

Now that he thought about it, Sherlock had become more clingy lately. That was enough to really make John think. It definitely wasn't normal behavior for Sherlock. After all, we're talking about someone who could go for hours without noticing John's absence. So what's changed? John wished he knew. Perhaps something happened to Sherlock that he was hiding from John. He'd hate to think that Sherlock would actually hide something serious from him, but he was entitled to privacy like everyone else. Still...it would explain a lot. The more he thought about it, the more it worried him.

The street was now safe to cross and the small group began to hurry along so John quickly joined them. But the more he thought, the slower his steps became. He decided to think about this rationally before he managed to get himself into a full-blown panic. And the best way he knew how was go back to the days when he was still seeing his therapist for his PTSD. After all, Sherlock's reactions to him have been remarkably similar. Calm and collected on the outside, but having uncharacteristic outbursts on occasion. He tried to remember what his therapist had taught him about dealing with repressed emotions but for the life of him he couldn't. It wasn't as if he had used the techniques recently. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he thought about his PTSD at all. He hasn't had any nightmares in what seemed like months, panic attacks even longer still. Then it quickly hit him like a ton of bricks and he stopped so suddenly that someone behind him bumped into him, then passed him with a dirty look. His PTSD hadn't manifested itself in about a year.

About the same length of time since he moved into 221B with Sherlock.

With a dazed look on his face he walked the last block to the bistro and took a table inside by a window so he could see when Sarah arrived. But even though he was looking out the window, he saw nothing. He was still reeling from his realization. He knew that he and Sherlock had become quite close in their work together, but he never realized that their friendship didn't just end there. Sherlock had become extremely important to him. He worried about the silly git constantly; whether he ate, when (and if) he slept, and most definitely when he was chasing after him through the darkened streets of London after God knows who. After all, he had only known him for one day and it was all he needed to know for him to kill a man in Sherlock's defense. And he'd do it again. Without hesitation. That's what friends did, wasn't it?

But no, it was more than that. He was friends with Lestrade, and of course Molly too. But he couldn't care a fig as to whether Lestrade got home at a decent hour, or whether Molly ate something better than whatever came out of the vending machines at St. Bart's. He CARED about Sherlock's well-being, more than a bloke usually would for his friend. It was almost as if...

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone chiming. He dug it out of his pocket and glanced at it. It was Sarah.

Hey! Sorry it's such sort notice by I got called in the surgery because the night nurse called out. Raincheck?

Yeah. No problem. Just let me know when. -JW

Thanks John. You're the best! :)

See you later.- JW

John sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples. Unbelievable. He knew the chances of him being called in as well were likely. But he couldn't worry about that right now. Instead he texted Sherlock.

Sarah got called in so she's not coming. If you're hungry, come eat with me. My treat. Unless you'd rather I get takeout. -JW

No. SH

No what? - JW

Not hungry. SH

John shook his head. Typical. He got up to leave and decided to get take out anyway. He was still hungry and figured that if he got Sherlock's favorite, he might convince him to eat a bite or two. He called ahead to their usual Chinese restaurant and placed an order knowing it would be ready by the time he got there. Besides, he had to pass it on the way back to Baker Street.

He arrived just as they were boxing up his order and it would be a minute or two more. He sat in a chair to wait, and his mind drifted back to his earlier revelation. The more he thought about it, the more he tried to second guess his conclusion. Yes he cared about Sherlock, but just how deep does that river run? He made a mental checklist: 1) he always made sure Sherlock was fed. OK, any friend would do the same. 2) he always made sure the flat was tidy and the kitchen stocked. That only proves that he's the responsible one between the two. Nothing unusual there. 3) His temper boils at the slightest negatively thrown in Sherlock's direction. Hmmm, OK so that can be seen in a number of ways. John decided to ignore that for now. But the heart of the matter was simply this: no matter what he was doing, if he was away from Sherlock, then Sherlock always seemed to find a way into his mind. He admitted to himself that he did spend an unusual amount of time thinking and worrying about him. But could that really mean that he...

He shook his head. He was just overanalyzing everything, he was sure. Absentmindedly, he reached on the counter for a fortune cookie to use as a distraction. They were always so ridiculous they never failed to make John laugh, and right now his tired brain could use some levity. He broke it open, read the fortune, and his heart stopped completely.

"HE WHO IS LOCKED IN YOUR MIND HOLDS THE KEY TO YOUR HEART"

When they called his name John quickly grabbed his bags, threw a handful of bills on the counter, and bolted to Baker Street.


	3. Confrontation

As soon as the door slammed behind John, Sherlock got up from his laptop and raced to the window. Pulling them open just a smidge, he managed to watch John draw his jacket tighter and set off on a brisk pace downtown. He let out a breath that he didn't even realize he was holding. He still regretted his harsh words to John but knew why he went on the defensive. He felt John was getting close...too close to figuring it all out, and that was something that he couldn't allow. He hadn't even managed to completely come to terms with it himself, so how would he handle John's reaction, whatever that may be?

Knowing that John didn't plan on staying out all night, Sherlock decided to use his time alone wisely and do his damnedest to get to the root of his fear. Maybe then he could decide on a logical course of action. But genius that he was, he knew he needed help focusing. Decision made, he easily unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. As he did so, he walked to the mantel and stood before Billy the skull. The silent grin taunted him, as if to say "Go ahead...you know you want to...I wont tell..."

With trembling fingers he lifted Billy and deftly felt inside until his fingertips rested on cool metal. A slight tug allowed him to pull the item into the palm of his hand. It glistened brightly in the light of the room, twinkling its invitation.

A key.

Closing his fingers tightly around it, he made his way to the loo, closed the door and locked it behind him. He then walked over to the window and drew the shade, effectively shutting out the outside world. The room was shrouded in shadow but it didn't matter. He'd done this often enough to know he could manage with his eyes shut.

He walked over to the medicine cabinet and opened the door. Instantly he was assaulted by John's essence: his aftershave, his cologne. He inhaled deeply as if he could conjure him from thin air just by smell alone. He smelled sandalwood and earth, which reminded him of John's strength of character. As he exhaled he tried to release that whisper of doubt about what he was about to do. After all, his secret had been hidden for a year now and although it's presence has come across his mind countless times, he'd always managed to work his way through the temptation. It usually involved John somehow. John had become his anchor into reality, his light in his world of darkness, his beacon of hope...in truth, his very lifeline. He knew if it wasn't for him Lestrade would have pulled his lifeless body out of a back alley by now. He brutally pushed that thought aside as he begin to methodically removing the cabinet's contents until the bare wall was exposed. Once finished, he removed his tiny toolkit that he always kept in his pocket and chose the smallest pick he had. Using it, he forced the tip into the loose mortar between the brick in the bottom right corner and the wall of the cabinet. He begin to carefully wiggle the brick until it pulled out just enough to grasp the edge with his finger tips and pull it out. Reaching his hand into the now exposed wall, he took out a simple velvet wrapped case adorned with a tiny silver lock, oddly enough given to him by Mycroft on his last birthday. Originally it held a sterling silver pen with his initials engraved on it. But now it held something completely different. He inserted the key and turned it until he heard the faint click. He slowly opened it up, the hinges groaning from disuse. His pupils blew wide open at the sight before him and his heart rate spiked sharply. He plucked the item from its casing and held it at eye level.

A single syringe.

The case clattered to the floor, forgotten. Not taking his eyes off it he slowly backed away from the cabinet until his back was pressed against the door. Silently he slid down to the floor.

Hello old friend...he thought to himself.

His mind whirled with so many thoughts that he was quickly becoming overwhelmed. He knew he shouldn't. He'd come so far. And yet...the mind-numbing peace it promised him seemed too enticing to resist.

He heard a small thump below stairs and immediately froze. Likely it was Mrs. Hudson ambling around her kitchen, but her usual practice of popping in unannounced had Sherlock holding his breath until he was sure a visit from her wasn't forthcoming. Once satisfied that his nosy landlady would stay to herself, he slowly exhaled. But it did nothing to calm his racing heart.

He looked at the syringe again and could just make out the amount of clear fluid stored inside. It wasn't even a full dosage and certainly nowhere near to the copious amounts he was used to. But he had stored just enough, by his calculations, to give him the fix he needed.

He removed the belt from his housecoat and tied it tightly over his bicep. His trembling hands fumbled over the knot and the syringe fell from his hands and started to roll away from him. He lunged for it just as it rolled under the hamper. Blindly he reached under it and came into contact with something soft instead. He pulled it out and felt his breath hitch as he recognised the item: one of John's oatmeal jumpers. He sat back on his heels and just stared at it for an endless amount of time, his eyes burning with tears that he refused to let fall. Even now, although he was probably clear across London by now, John was also here, trying to save him from himself.

Finally giving in, he crushed the jumper close to him and wept bitterly. He wept until his throat was raw and his head pounded, and the guilt at what he was about to do consumed him. He knew in that moment that the disappointment in John's face when he found out would kill him quicker that any overdose he ever had, for John had managed to save him in every way that a man could be saved, except in this. And what can Sherlock do to repay him but betray him and his trust. He didn't deserve him. John deserved so much better. John was his best (and only) friend and had somehow managed to bury himself permanently into Sherlock's soul and his very being. With sudden clarity resonating throughout his mind, he finally allowed himself to speak the words aloud that he fought for so long...

"I love him..."

Those three little words seemed to unlock the chains around the emotional block that prevented him from finding a solution to his "problem", although he now realized that his feelings for John wasn't the actual problem at all. It was fear. Fear that he couldn't be for John all that John had been for him. Fear that he couldn't protect John the way John had protected him. He knew that his feelings for John would eventually cause him to lose focus on a particularly dangerous case, and that one moment would be all someone needed to hurt John...or worse. And it would be all his fault. He simply couldn't live with that. But what could he do?

A chime from his pocket brought Sherlock out of his musings. He slid his phone from the pocket of his dressing gown and unlocked the screen. A single text. It was John.

Sarah got called in so she's not coming. If you're hungry, come eat with me. My treat. Unless you prefer I get takeout. -JW

He definitely wasn't in a state of mind to leave the flat.

No. - SH

No what? - JW

Not hungry. - SH

As soon as he hit " send" he realized his mistake. If he wasn't eating with Sarah and Sherlock wasn't coming, that only meant he would be coming home. Sherlock suddenly panicked. He couldn't let John see him like this. It would hurt him to his very core and more than likely make him leave the flat permanently.

Sherlock blinked, the answer suddenly so obvious to him. If he wanted to protect John he would have to let him go. The pain of his realization constricted his chest. But he knew the pain would be worse if something happened to John because his foolish emotions got in the way. He had a choice to make. He could either allow John to keep following him blindly into danger until it got him hurt or killed, or he could sacrifice the heart he didn't know he had until now and hurt John causing him to walk away. At least when John left, Sherlock could mend his broken soul with the comfort that John would be alive and safe. John had sacrificed so much for him. Now it was his turn.

He reached under the hamper again and felt around until he found the syringe. Instead of sliding back against the door, he shakily rose to his feet and approached the cabinet once again. Closing it he faced himself in the mirror. It was a conscious decision he was making, and one he knew he would have to live with for the rest of his life, whatever his life would be like without John. The least he could do was look himself in the face as did this.

As he was beginning to tighten the belt around his bicep once more he heard the door to the flat slam and familiar footsteps ascending the stairs. Realizing he was almost out of time, his fingers began shaking once again. He fumbled as quickly as he could as he heard John shouting for him.

"Sherlock? Where are you? I brought home some take out anyway and I got your favorite. Come eat."

Sherlock ignored him, concentrating instead on pumping his fist until that familiar blue vein made its presence known. But he heard footsteps approaching followed by a knock on the door.

"You in there? Are you ok? Come on out. Your food is getting cold. Besides, I need to talk to you."

Sherlock noticed John's voice was breathless like he had been running a marathon. But he couldn't stop to wonder about that now. He was almost there. The doorknob rattling told him it was now or never.

"Sherlock what's going on? Why is the door locked?"

Sherlock choked back tears as he yelled "GO AWAY!" Unfortunately, his voice shook enough to alert John that something was seriously wrong. And that set John into a panic.

"Sherlock, if you don't open this damn door right now I'm going to break the bloody thing down! NOW OPEN IT!"

"I said go away John!"

He felt the familiar bite of the needle as it slid effortlessly into his pale white skin, his vision blurred by the hot tears streaming down his face and threatening to suffocate him. At the same moment the door shook with tremendous force once, twice, three times before the lock finally gave in and it swung open wildly. Sherlock looked up into John's eyes and watched them widen in confusion then panic.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!"

The pain in John's eyes, although expected, was more than he could bear. He felt in that moment his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. And as much as he wanted to declare his love for this man, his mind would only allow him one response.

Softly he whispered "John...I'm sorry..."

He closed his eyes and begin to push the plunger.


	4. Crossroads

John had raced to the flat as if his life depended on it. He flew around corners and narrowly missed bowling over Angelo as he swept the landing in front his restaurant. John threw a hasty "Sorry Angelo!" over his shoulder and kept running. Angelo, for his part, simply smiled and shook his head.

As he ran, John's mind ran with him. How could he have been so blind? Why couldn't he have seen the truth staring him right in the face? He felt like a total idiot. All the times he had been on numerous dates, babbling on uncomfortably to woman he tried desperately tried to impress...none of it had mattered. Looking back he realized that most of the conversations during those dates, in one way or another, had turned to Sherlock. Whether it was someone who wanted to know more about the famous "hat detective" or John talking about a case they had been on, it was ALWAYS Sherlock. And he had always spoken about him with a sense of pride. Why shouldn't he? He was damn proud to be able to call Sherlock HIS flatmate, HIS colleague, HIS friend. Once spoken in his mind, that tiny word seemed to sparkle like a diamond and light the darkest spaces in his soul.

HIS.

Yes, Sherlock was HIS! There was no denying it any longer. It didn't matter if they were racing around London like lunatics, examining bodies at St. Bart's, or just watching telly at home...there was no one he'd rather be with. No one he'd rather argue with. Because even though Sherlock didn't realize it, he'd given John what he wanted most: a home and someone to come home to.

And he couldn't get there fast enough.

He stopped in front of 221B and fumbled with his keys. Dropping the take out bags at his feet, he willed his hands to stop trembling long enough to open the door. He pushed open the door, hastily grabbed the bags once again and kicked the door closed behind him. Once inside he stopped momentarily to catch his breath. As he made his way upstairs he realized he didn't have a clue what exactly he was going to say to Sherlock but he also realized he didn't care. All he knew is that he was going to sit him down, look him in the eye, and let his heart do the rest.

He couldn't wait.

He threw the bags on the kitchen table and looked around. Sherlock was no where to be seen. He peeked in the sitting room then opened the door to Sherlock's bedroom. He wasn't there either. Puzzled, he walked towards the loo.

"Sherlock? Where are you? I brought home some take out anyway and I got your favorite. Come and eat."

Standing near the door he leaned closer and tried listen for any noise inside. Not hearing anything he tried the knob. It was locked.

"Are you in there? Are you ok? Come on out. Your food is getting cold. Besides, I need to talk to you." He rattled the knob louder this time. No response.

"Sherlock what's going on? Why is the door locked?"

He heard Sherlock's voice through the door. "GO AWAY!" But it wasn't the solid authoritative voice that he was used to. It was shaky and unsteady as if he was frightened. He knew for a fact that Sherlock was rarely afraid of anything. Something was seriously wrong. Panic set in and all John knew was that he had to get inside.

"Sherlock, if you don't open this damn door right now I'm going to break the bloody thing down! NOW OPEN IT!"

"I said go away John!"

He had enough. Sherlock was in trouble and nothing was going to stop him from helping the man he now realized was his missing half, least of all an old door. Without a second thought he reared back and slammed himself into the door, his shoulder screaming in protest. It rattled but held firm. Again he tried and managed to splinter some of the wood around the frame. Giving it all he had, he put every ounce of strength and fear he possessed into the final blow that caused the door to swing wildly and allow him to see inside. He wasn't sure what to expect...but the sight before him definitely wasn't it.

Sherlock had been facing away from him before he broke the door down. As he cautiously entered he watched Sherlock glance up and meet his eyes in the mirror. And what he saw in them made John's heart stop.

Pain. Raw and aggressive. Those amazing eyes that could so clearly see through everyone else were clouded over in such agony that John couldn't breathe. Before he could take another step forward, Sherlock slowly turned and faced him. It wasn't until then that John noticed the syringe he held in his trembling hands, the needle pushing its way into Sherlock's alabaster skin, marking him in a way that made John want to howl. And howl he did.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!"

No...no...NO! Not again! He couldn't let this happen! Not when he finally realized his feelings for this man! Fate wouldn't be that cruel, would it? He'd already lost his parents, Harry was always so far into the bottle that he'd written her off long ago. Then the war happened, turning him into a shell of his former self. He never thought he'd be whole again, until he met Sherlock. Sherlock had given him a reason to LIVE, not just go through the motions of existence. Sherlock had intertwined himself around John's heart and soul until he no longer knew where one stopped and the other began. They completed each other. And he'll be damned if he lost him now.

Sherlock looked him in the eyes and John could see every wall that Sherlock had ever built around himself had crumbled and were long gone. There he stood: a broken man, a lost little boy...and the man he called his best friend, although he knew now he was so much more than that. He was his reason for getting up every morning and making tea for two, the reason he finally got rid of that damn cane he never really needed and the reason he stopped waisting time seeing that damn therapist. Sherlock was his everything.

And here he was: hanging in the balance between fear, anger, and love.

Before John could say another word, Sherlock's voice could be heard, so softly that the pounding in his ears almost drowned the words out.

"John...I'm sorry..."

An apology, a plea for absolution. Not waiting for John's response, Sherlock's eyes flitted closed as he begin to push the fire into his veins.

Almost instantly, John's training overtook the fear that addled his mind and pushed him into action. Like lightning he closed the gap between them and grabbed Sherlock tightly around the wrist that held the syringe. Twisting sharply, he managed to pull the needle from his arm before the full dose was administered, while at the same time grabbing it with his other hand and throwing it into the shower and out of the way.

It happened so quickly that Sherlock didn't have time to think. It wasn't until John was standing directly in front of him that he realized what happened. John was here, fists clinched in anger but fear overshadowing his eyes which had turned from a summer's blue to a stormy gray. They simply stared at each other, a moment that stretched into eternity. And as he watched, John's eyes begin to fill with tears and pain settled over his face like a shadow. Sherlock couldn't stand it any longer.

Slowly he lifted his hand to John's face but couldn't bring himself to touch him. He didn't deserve to. John was good and pure and he couldn't bring himself to defile him with his weakness. Just as he was about to lower his hand, John brought his own up and placed it on top of his, then slowly leaned his face into Sherlock's palm. As his cold hand touched John's flushed face, he felt his breath catch. It was a sign of trust, and he knew that now more than ever, he was unworthy. He still had to make John understand.

Licking his dry lips Sherlock tried to speak but found he couldn't. He was so overwhelmed by the fact that John was still here that he couldn't even think straight. Still, he tried.

"John..." His voice cracked so badly that it sounded like nothing more than a breathy whisper.

Seeing Sherlock like this had John torn between weeping and shouting. He tried to blink away the tears that clouded his vision only to have them streak down his face and be replaced by more. He had NEVER seen Sherlock like this and was at a loss at what to do. He decided to stick with his original plan and let his heart lead him.

Ever so gently he raised his hands and cupped Sherlock's face. He couldn't put what he wanted to say into a coherent sentence, but he was raised to believe that actions spoke louder than words. So instead of saying everything he desperately wanted to, he decided to show it.

He took a step closer to Sherlock, his eyes never leaving his. Tilting his head back slightly he inched closer, lifting slightly on his toes until his lips were on the verge of brushing Sherlock's. And yet he waited. He wanted Sherlock to know that he was offering his heart to him, and his soul was his for the taking. But ultimately it was Sherlock's decision and waited to see if he would close the final gap between them.

Looking down at John, Sherlock's mind was ablaze. Could it be? Could the man Sherlock loved more than life itself actually forgive him this grave sin he committed against him? He searched his face, desperately looking for a sign. When John had cupped his face so tenderly, hope beat hard and fast in his chest. His gaze dug hard into John's and saw the miracle that was behind the shadows... He saw the love, just waiting for him to take. And as John moved towards him and slowly raised his lips, he knew that John had not only discovered his feelings but returned them as well. It was more than he ever hoped for. He lowered himself towards John, his lips aching to feel what he had longed for...feeling the lightest touch against his own... He closed his eyes and was prepared to give himself up fully to John...

Suddenly a pain shot through Sherlock like a bolt of lightning, causing him to stumbled backwards. John's quick reflexes kept him from crashing into the cabinet behind them but he couldn't keep Sherlock on his feet. Using all the strength he had left, he tried to lower Sherlock into a seated position on the floor but he barely managed to get him to his knees before Sherlock lunged towards the toilet to empty the meager contents of his stomach. Even after he was finished he remained doubled over in pain, with a light that burned with white-hot intensity behind his eyes and a burning that seemed to melt his insides. John knelt beside him and held him as steady as he could but could see that Sherlock's condition was rapidly deteriorating. He went to the kitchen quickly to get a glass of cool water for Sherlock to drink. He also grabbed his phone that he had thrown on the table next to their now-cold dinner.

He returned to find Sherlock curled up in the fetal position, sobbing, his body quivering with spasms. He was beside him in seconds, lifting him gently into his arms and whispered "I'm here...I'm here. You're safe." Sherlock opened his eyes and tried to smile, but John could see his once alabaster skin slowly turn to gray ash.

Terrified at his sudden weakness, he stood up with Sherlock draped over him like a soggy blanket and brought him to the sitting room and laid him on the couch. He threw a blanket over Sherlock's shivering form and ran his fingers through the messy curls that fell across his forehead.

"Everything's going to be fine Sherlock." he murmured, when it wasn't, when he couldn't speak and was as gray as death. He knew he had to get help...and fast.

He quickly dialed 999 and gave them the address. Once satisfied they were on their way, he held onto Sherlock's hand as if he could transfer strength to him by sheer force of will. Even though it seemed like an eternity, he knew it was only a few minutes before he heard the siren turn down Baker Street. Not wanting to wait any longer than necessary, he decided to meet the paramedics downstairs.

Bracing himself, he lifted Sherlock's seemingly lifeless body once again and managed to calm his shaking legs as he carried him downstairs bridal style. Once at the bottom, he leaned against the wall and cupped Sherlock's face once again.

"Can you hear me?!"

His eyes fluttered open, but he could see the tremendous effort required for so trifling a movement and his pulse raced in fear.

"We'll be at St. Bart's soon Sherlock. Just hold on." Sherlock struggled to sit up, terror in his eyes.

"John..."

The breathy word was scarcely audible, his frenzied exertion sapping his remaining strength. He fell back but his eyes held John's in a frightened gaze as he was carried outside to the waiting ambulance and strapped inside.

"You're safe Sherlock. I promise. I'm right here and I'll never leave you. Hospital is only 10 miles away. Just hold on!"

Sherlock's eyes shut and he went still.

Panic gripped John's soul.

Securing himself in the back of the ambulance, he slammed the doors as they leaped forward and drove like mad down the narrow streets. He couldn't lose him. He wouldn't.

Ten miles to the hospital.  
Ten miles to the care he needed.

He began to pray.


	5. Unexpected

Sherlock stood in an empty hallway. He glanced around him in all directions and didn't see a single soul. What he did see was identical hallways intersecting where he now stood, so that he stood in a crossroad of sorts. The walls were stark white, as were the ceiling and the commonplace tile floor. If he didn't know better he would guess that he was in a hospital of some sort, yet it lacked the usually noise and bustle that should have been going on around him. There should have been nurses scurrying to and fro, clipboards in hand, dodging in and out of rooms. There should have been the orderlies pushing patients in wheelchairs to various tests and therapies. At the very least he should have been able to hear the monitors beeping or even the florescent lights buzzing overhead. Yet all he heard was...silence.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" he called out. He waited for a response...nothing. He looked around again, knowing that he was going to have to find someone to help him. But which way should he go? There were no signs on the walls telling him where he was or which way he should go. He decided to approach this logically and use the process of elimination. He would try one hall for a time and if he couldn't answer any of his questions he would simply return to this spot and try another direction.

He chose the hall to his left and began to walk cautiously. Every time he came to a door he knocked and tried to open it but they were all locked. It wasn't until he reached the 5th door that he noticed something strange. The further he walked, the more unbalanced he became. His breathing became more labored and his muscles felt like they were made of lead. A dizziness swept over him and he found it difficult to continue forward, as if he was trying to walk against a current during high tide. He leaned against the wall and took great gulping breaths to try to steady himself but it only seemed to make it worse. He decided to head back the way he came. At the very least, he could rest at his point of origin then decide on a different course of action.

Holding a hand against the wall for support he turned around and walked the way he came. After a few steps, he realized his breathing had calmed immensely and his muscles were returning back to their previous state, stong and lithe once again. Reaching the "crossroads" he was no longer supporting himself against the bare walls, but rather he felt as he did when he started: confused.

Not giving it a second thought he chose another hallway and proceeded to make his way down. This one, however, seemed to be getting darker as he walked, as if this hallway had no lighting of its own. Gradually the darkness hindered his ability to see where he was going. And with the darkness came another unusual sensation: burning. He felt as if he was burning from the inside out, a fire that was raging in his veins, his head, his chest. Alarmed he quickly spun around and headed back. Once again, as he approached his point of origin, the odd sensations stopped. Reaching the "crossroads", he was getting frustrated because he was no closer to any answers than when he started, and he definitely had more questions to answer. But he just didn't know what to do.

And he definitely hated not knowing.

He put his fingers to his temples and tried to access his Mind Palace. Maybe he had stored something that could give him a clue as to what to do. But try as he might, he couldn't find it. His Mind Palace was gone! It couldn't be! All those years of experiments and research had simply vanished. Sherlock was torn between weeping and roaring in frustration. He had used that information as building blocks so he could solve cases, and now he seemed as ordinary as everyone else. He belatedly wished John was here...he would know what to do.

"Oh God...John!" he thought to himself. If he was here, where the hell was John? Perhaps he was here somewhere, in another section of this strange place, just as lost and confused as he was. He had to find him.

"Perhaps I truly am lost without my blogger, after all..." he murmured to himself, allowing himself a moment to appreciate the irony of the casual comment he used to throw John's way. Shaking his head he felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He would be lost without John, no matter what. John kept him rooted to reality and had his back more times that he can remember. If he was here, then he had to find him.

As thoughts of John continued to swirl through him, Sherlock felt more of his strength return and his mind become more clear. Encouraged, he chose another hallway and slowly walked down the corridor. He looked into each passing door, hoping to find John, but finding nothing or no one. He refused to give up. He HAD to find him.

As he continued his journey, those strange sensations returned. This time, however, they weren't painful. It was as if warmth had settled into his being and slowly spread through his extremities. It gave him a sense of peace of contentment that he wasn't used to and found that it was pleasurable indeed. But it was certainty a different reaction than he experienced in the other hallways. So what was the difference?

Of course... John. While exploring the other corridors he was concerned for himself, and it had gotten him nowhere. Now that his attention was directed on his love, his John, the experience was completely different. He realized that perhaps that had been his problem all along. He had spent his time agonizing over his feelings for John using logic instead of just following his heart. Now that he had put his feelings for John to the forefront, his worry and his pain simply vanished and was replaced by a happiness he hasn't experienced before. Once again, John had saved him.

Walking further, his determination grew. His steps echoed quietly in the emptiness. He stopped for a moment to look around and could have sworn he heard a faint sound. Remaining still, he listened harder. There it was again! The faintest whisper, almost ethereal in its tone.

"Sherlock..."

It was John! It had to be! His heartbeat raced with the knowledge that he was heading in the right direction. And if he could hear John, then maybe John could hear him.

"John! Where are you?! Can you hear me?" he shouted. Not hearing a response he began running further down the mysterious hall, calling out as he ran. "John! Where are you? Help me find you!" He kept running until the doors were blurring together as he swept past them. He paused as he came to another juncture and listened for John's voice to lead him.

"Sherlock... can you hear me? Please come back to me. I need you!" The voice was stronger and definitely closer. But Sherlock could also detect a sense of sorrow mingled in the words. John was upset over something. Choosing a direction he allowed his worry over John to spur him forward, determination making his steps quick and sure. The further he ran, the louder the voice became.

"Sherlock... Please...I don't know what to do." The tone continued to grow more and more sorrowful and Sherlock could make out faint sobs punctuating the words. He knew he had to hurry.

He turned a corner and stopped. There up ahead was another empty corridor full of closed doors... except for one. At the very end of the hallway he could see that the last door was cracked open slightly. That had to be it! He approached cautiously, hearing John's voice continue to break as he pleaded to Sherlock for help. He finally approached the door and peeked through the crack.

There was John. His John. He was sitting in a simple overstuffed chair, bent forward, his head in his hands. His shoulders shook slightly as the sobs racked his usually calm demeanor. Sherlock's heart broke seeing him this way. But John began to speak again and it kept Sherlock rooted where he stood.

"Sherlock, please! If you can hear me, please come back...I need you, you stubborn idiot. I didn't realize it until it was too late, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

He couldn't stand it any longer. He wanted nothing more to rush in there, grab John into his arms and show him that he was ok, that he was here, and that he would always be here for him. He watched John as he lifted his face and Sherlock saw the pure misery etched all over it, his tear-stained cheeks glistening in the muted light. John reached out as if to grab something in front of him and Sherlock chose that moment to make his entrance. Reaching out and putting his hand on the door, he firmly pushed it open and stepped inside. The sight before him stopped him short.

John had been sitting next to a hospital bed. In fact he was so close to it that he was practically on top of it. By the looks of him, he had been here for quite a while. His hair was tousled as if he had been running his hands through it, and his jumper was wrinkled beyond belief. He realized that John had been reaching out to grab the hand of the figure laying so still in the bed. Stepping forward he got a better look at just who it was.

It was him.

It was almost too surreal for Sherlock to process. How could he be THERE when he was standing RIGHT HERE? He gazed at himself and took in all the details instantly...the oxygen tubes attached to his nose, the IVs that were slowly emptying their contents into him, the sheet drawn tightly over his thin chest. He focused on John again and watched as John had taken his limp hand within his own and held tightly. As he did, he could feel the echo of warmth within his own hand, felt John touching him. John then laid his head over their intertwined hands and let out another muffled sob. Sherlock's heart broke at the sight yet swelled at the love manifested before him. He approached John and looked down at the man so broken over him. He reached out and hovered his hand over John's head, afraid to touch him. But he had to try.

He softly placed his hand on John's crown and felt the silky hairs tickle his palm. Caressing gently, he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes and he let them fall unchecked. He knew John couldn't feel him and he wasn't sure how he was able to feel John, but he didn't care. John was here for him, just like always. The least he could do try to show John that he was here too.

He leaned over John's form until his lips hovered close to John's ear. Here was his chance to tell John everything he felt and he wasn't going to waste it.

Quietly he whispered, "John...I don't know if you can hear me. But I am here with you, just as you've always been there for me. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for being too stubborn to tell you the truth. You are the only person who has managed to become this important to me and it scared the hell out of me. I've never let anyone in because I was always afraid of being judged for being different. But none of that mattered to you. You looked at me as if I was special, and not just different. I can't tell you how much that meant to me...how much YOU mean to me. John...I Love You. God help me, but I do. I love your strength and courage. I love the way you keep me grounded while also allowing me the freedom to be myself. And I promise you, I will find a way to prove it. No matter how long it takes."

As he straightened up, he noticed that John had become increasingly silent. He seemed to mimic Sherlock as he sat up straight in his chair and Sherlock noticed that he was no longer sobbing quietly. Rather he seemed to be listening, darting his eyes back and forth around the room.

"Sherlock...?" he whispered faintly. Sherlock instantly became excited.

"Yes John! Yes I'm here!" he said. "Can you actually hear me?"

"Sherlock... I don't know if you can actually hear me, but I can feel like you're here with me. If you are, please find a way to come back. I miss you. I need you. I have so much that I need to say to you." His voice began cracking once again. "Please Sherlock...you taught me how to live again. I can't bear the thought of having to do it without you..."

Sherlock reached down and placed his hand over John's and inadvertently his own as well. He could feel the difference between the two: John's hand was warm and solid while his seemed cold and clammy.

"John I promise you...I'm on my way. Nothing will keep me from you ever again. I promise." Sherlock whispered. As if he heard him, John lifted his hand that he had intertwined with Sherlock's and gently placed a kiss on Sherlock's knuckles. Sherlock once again felt the ghost of warmth on his hand where John had kissed him. It was all the remaining motivation he needed.

Sherlock tightly shut his eyes and begin to concentrate as hard as he could, focusing all his effort on trying to wake up. The closer he felt he was getting, the more the psychical pains of what his body had been through became more manifested. His chest began to burn, his head ached, and his insides felt on fire. He struggled through it all, refusing to give up, knowing that the prize waiting on the other side was worth the pain, and so much more. John was waiting for him, and he wasn't going to disappoint him. Not again.

He continued to struggle through his layers of unconscienceness, feeling himself rise higher and higher through each one. At the final barrier, the pain had become so great that he worried he wouldn't be able to break through. He thought of John and used his love to give himself one final push.

Stars seemed to shatter all around him. His head swam as if he couldn't tell which way was up or down, but he felt gravity's pull bringing him back down to earth. He felt his head being cradled by something soft. Struggling to open his eyes he blinked into the offending light that burned his corneas. As they came into focus he saw what he longed most to see: John, sitting to his right, holding his hand tightly. He tried to speak but his throat was gritty and he couldn't force his cracked lips to move. Using the last remaining strength he had, he tried to squeeze John's fingers with his own. He felt disappointed at his effort.

John, however, had been tuned in for so long to look for ANY slightest clue of Sherlock's awakening. He felt the hand in his clench slightly and he was instantly on alert. His gaze flew to Sherlock's face and saw quicksilver eyes watching him from under heavy lids. His heart leaped in his throat.

"Sherlock? Are you awake?! Squeeze my hand if you can hear me!" John said, holding back tears. He waited patiently and was rewarded. Sherlock's hand tightened slightly around his own. It was all he needed. The dam he held inside broke and John began to cry, sobs of relief pouring from him. He rose from his chair and threw himself over Sherlock, although he did so gently. Resting his head on Sherlock's sternum he heard the steady heartbeat and took great delight in it. Sitting up he looked Sherlock in the face, not caring that his eyes were puffy, his nose was runny or that he hasn't showered in 2 days. All that mattered was that he had come back to him.

Sherlock watched John's reaction and couldn't help but feel the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. Seeing John's open emotions gave him more strength. He managed to slowly raise his left arm and place his hand on John's back, just as John sat up and looked at him. Sherlock knew he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life than John in this moment.

His John.

John looked at Sherlock and saw that he had a small smile on his face. With no effort at all he returned one. He was so choked up with emotion that he couldn't speak anymore. But he could damn well finished what he started a few days ago. Licking his dry lips, he bent down and covered Sherlock's mouth with his own.

Sherlock's eyes drifted closed as he felt the warmth of John's mouth against his lips. John was here, and Sherlock felt safe.

He had finally found home.


	6. Leap of Faith

After many moments of basking in each others arms, John finally straightened himself so that he could sit once again in the chair situated so close to Sherlock's bed. He refused however to release Sherlock's hand, not wanting to break contact with him. It was as if he was afraid that doing so would cause Sherlock to slip away again. He knew it was irrational, but still he clung tightly.

Sherlock, for his part, felt his face flush as he watched John make himself comfortable once again. He knew that he still had so much to say, so much that he needed to explain. After all, it wasn't like he could just expect John to just forgive and forget everything that he just put him through. But he honestly didn't know where to start. As he swallowed, the gravel in his throat reminded him of the condition he was in. Glancing over he saw the clear plastic carafe on the bedside table glistening with cool water. That seemed like a good place to start. He struggled to sit up and reach over for it, but John was having none of it.

"Sherlock, don't. You're still weak and need your rest. Tell me what you need and I'll get it." John said firmly.

"Water….please…." Sherlock croaked.

John lifted himself and reached for the carafe. He carefully poured half a cup of water and added a straw to make it easier for Sherlock. He held it steady near Sherlock's mouth long enough for him to drink the entire thing. Once he was satisfied that he was finished, he returned the cup to the table and sat down again, still clinging to Sherlock as if to a lifeline.

The water was refreshing and Sherlock felt relief. Now that his voice felt stronger, he was ready to face what he knew what coming. He knew he deserved it, and it would face it head-on.

"John…." Sherlock's voice only slightly cracked this time. He cleared his throat and tried again. "John….I believe I owe you an explanation, among other things. I'm just not sure where to begin."

"You can say that again, Sherlock! You can bet your ass that you will damn well explain that little stunt you decided to pull." John responded, more sharply than he intended. He took a deep breath to calm himself then started again, his voice now calm and even. "Believe me, we will have a VERY long talk about all of this. But that can wait for now." He watched in amusement as Sherlock's eyebrows flew up in surprise. He suppressed a chuckle. How could he have not seen how much he adored this man? But he knew there would be time for all that later. For now, his main concern was seeing that Sherlock recovered enough so that he could take him home. At least there, they could have their row in private.

"How long have I been here?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Two days. You lost conscienceless in the ambulance on the way here. As soon as we arrived they took you away and I wasn't allowed to see you at first because I wasn't considered "Family". But as soon as you were stable and moved into a room I was informed that an exception had been made and I was allowed in. I think I know who to thank for that." John answered. Sherlock leaned his head back into his pillow and groaned. There could only be one person powerful enough to bend the rules when it suited his purpose, and that was his nosy brother. He hoped that Mycroft hadn't paid a visit while he was incapacitated. He knew he would never hear the end of it.

As if reading his mind John offered, "No, Mycroft hasn't been to see you…yet. I'm sure that once it becomes known that you are awake, he will see fit to make an appearance."

"And I suppose that it would be too much to hope for that my awakening would be kept from him any longer than necessary. Knowing him, he probably has half the staff here on his payroll somehow." Sherlock remarked dryly.

"No, you're probably right." John replied, trying not to giggle. "If I was a betting man, my guess would be that somehow he was on his way here right now in that oversized black car he's always traipsing around in. Seriously? Unless you're royalty, who needs a car like that? You think he's overcompensating for something?"

"Oh, you have no idea…" Sherlock said with a snort, allowing his grin to spread across his face freely. "But enough about that annoyance tied to me by blood. I don't want to think about him before I absolutely have to. Besides," he added quietly, "There are other more important things on my mind at the moment." He felt another flush creeping slowly up his face and he lowered his eyes, not wanting to look at John as he suddenly felt a loss for words on what he wanted so desperately to say. He gently squeezed John's hand again, hoping that the message would be received.

And of course, John being John, he got the point loud and clear. He answered Sherlock's squeeze with one of his own. He knew that he had just as much to say as Sherlock did, but he too was at a loss for words for where to begin. He knew how they both felt, that they both had acknowledged what was happening between them..…but it still needed to be said aloud. Only then could they continuing building their relationship from the solid friendship they already had into something even greater. He had begged Sherlock to come back to him so that he could say these things, and now that he had, he wouldn't become a coward now. He took a deep breath to collect his thoughts, and decided to stumble through as best as he could.

"Sherlock, when you were….you know….I thought I was going to lose my mind. I had always been on the other side of the table, sort of speak. I was always the one to have to come and tell a family about a patient's condition, their chances for recovery and such. You don't become a doctor and not learn how to detach yourself from such emotional situations. You wouldn't last a year in the medical field if you couldn't. So I somewhat knew what to expect when the doctor came to update me on your condition. You were rated a 6 on the Glasgow Scale, so I knew that there was still hope for your recovery, and that it would be a long and difficult road for you." John paused for a moment, and then took another breath to continue. "When I was finally allowed to see you, I entered here fully aware of how I would find you. But I still wasn't as prepared as I thought I was. I had seen men on the battlefield shot up and blown to pieces. But it wasn't the same as seeing you laying there." His voice cracked slightly as he continued. "It's so much different when it's someone that you….care about."

Seeing John begin to tear up once again pulled at Sherlock's heart. He gently pulled on John's hand until he stood up over him and embraced him. He felt John's hot tears on his neck and allowed his own to fall as well. He had always taken comfort in John's strength, but the knowledge that he had been the one to reduce this soldier to someone so utterly broken weighed heavily in his soul. He held him a moment longer then released him so that he could look into his eyes. The sweeping storm clouds were now gone and they were once again as blue as a summer's day. He didn't think he would ever get tired of looking into them. Gazing back at him, John spoke once again but his voice was lowered as if in confession.

"I know what they say about the possibility of someone who is unconscious being able to hear what is spoken around him. I never really stopped to think about whether that was true or not. But that didn't stop me from trying."

"I know." Sherlock whispered. "I heard you. I heard everything."

Sherlock slid his hand from John's shoulder to cup the nape of his neck and gently pulled him towards him. From under his heavy lids he watched John's eyes flutter closed as their lips met once more. He felt John's right hand intertwine with the curls dusting Sherlock's neck and gently tug, causing Sherlock to moan with his newfound emotions. His excitement rose on a wave of pleasure and he allowed John to pull his head back and expose his throat. The slow, gentle glide of John's mouth from ear to collarbone made Sherlock whimper, and he gladly lost himself to his touch.

John gathered him closer still and kissed him with a slowness that was driving him mad. Very gradually he deepened the kiss and he stroked John's back with long languid caresses. When he reached the puckered scar on his shoulder, he felt John stiffen slightly, as if he was ashamed. With great effort, he freed his mouth from John's and moved slightly so that he could whisper in John's ear.

"Don't pull away from me John. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are a brave man, by far the bravest man I have ever known. And I accept you, just as you are, like you did for me. There isn't a thing I would change about you." He knew the moment of truth had come. Sitting back slightly, he looked into John's eyes as his own clouded over again with emotion and he made the leap of faith.

"I love you."


	7. Tempers, Tantrums, and Total Honesty

John's eyes grew wider with Sherlock's revelation. Here he was, falling apart with guilt for not realizing how he felt sooner….and Sherlock goes right ahead and throws a monkey wrench into his entire thought process! He couldn't do anything but shake his head in stunned silence. Sherlock, on the other hand, waited with baited breath to see just what John would say to the bombshell he just dropped. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait too long.

John sat back in his seat, reared his head back and laughed. Oh, it felt so good to laugh again! The last few days had been pure hell on him, but it seemed in the distant past now. He continued laughing until his sides ached and his eyes watered from his mirth. Unable to stop, dropped his forehead into his palms and allowed all his worry to flow freely away from him.

Sherlock watched John in puzzlement, his eyes narrowing slightly. What did he say that was so damn funny? Between John's heartfelt words just moments ago and the intensity of the kiss they just shared, he didn't think he was wrong in assuming that John not only shared but returned the sentiment that Sherlock felt. Since John showed no signs of stopping any time soon, he began to wonder if he gravely miscalculated the meaning behind John's words. That thought left a heavy pit in Sherlock's stomach.

"John, if I, uh, misunderstood anything you have said…." he began. John simply shook his head again and managed to get himself under control and regain his powers of speech.

"Sherlock, you're an idiot, you know that?" he said, his grin still growing as he watched Sherlock stare at him with a completely deadpan look on his face. And the more he looked, the more comical it became. The giggles that he had managed to suppress began to bubble up once more but he quickly reined them in before he lost control again. The slightly hurt look on Sherlock's face helped him as well.

"That's not the usual response one would expect after such a declaration John…" Sherlock said quietly.

"I know and I'm sorry Sherlock." John said more solemnly. "I really didn't mean to do that. I just couldn't help it. It's certainly not something that I ever expected to hear you say."

"Well if that's the response I should come to expect, I doubt that I will say it again." Sherlock pouted. "I was hoping for something a little less insulting."

John simply stood up, swept Sherlock's bangs from in front of his eyes, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"Of course I love you too, you stubborn fool. How could I manage to put up with you otherwise?" John chuckled. "I guess my reaction was based on the fact that I had been agonizing over how to tell you exactly how I felt without putting you off. In fact, that's why I was racing home after my failed meeting with Sarah. When she didn't show up, I started thinking about a lot of different things and I realized that somewhere along the way, our friendship had developed into something more. But not only was I not sure of what to say, I was also scared of admitting it altogether. You'd been a down right jackass the last few days…and I was afraid that your reaction wouldn't be too pleasant, that you might even laugh at me."

"I would never do that John." Sherlock quickly interjected. "I know that I may seem to always poke fun at you for being 'ordinary' but it took me a long time to figure out that you are anything but. I may not have shown it properly, but I've always held you in the highest regard."

"So then do you care to explain that little tantrum and outburst you had before I left for dinner that night?" John asked with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock simply looked down, refusing to John in the eye, and took on a look of guilt like a little boy who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Realization struck John and his eyes widened. "You were jealous!" he breathed in awe. "I don't believe it! The great Sherlock Holmes, was actually jealous of someone who, and I quote, 'was just looking for a free dinner'?"

"You don't have to sound so smug about it." Sherlock grumbled.

"I'm not trying to, I promise!" John replied, trying to wipe the grin from his face and failing miserably. But his smile was infectious and soon Sherlock was grinning right along with him.

"Why didn't you just come out and say something then, instead of letting me go out on date after date? How could you have kept something like that bottled up for so long? That must have really hurt you, Sherlock, and that's something I never want to do."

"How could I, John? How could I ask you to give up a chance of finding happiness with someone just to stay home with me? I just wanted you to be happy. You deserved that, and so much more. How could I ever hope to do that? Look at me! I'm not exactly the poster child for relationships here. I can't even stand to be in the same room as my own brother! How could I ever assume that I had what it takes to be what you need? I've been on my own for so long now and I had gotten used to only looking out for myself, and you know how I ended up: constantly ending up in drug dens, not knowing how I got there or how I got home. For all my 'superior knowledge', I couldn't even take care of myself." Sherlock looked at John as he continued on. "But then you came along…..and I didn't feel alone anymore. You helped me realize that I wasn't the freak and outcast that everyone saw me as. You became….my friend. In fact, the only friend I've ever had. As my feelings grew, I was even more afraid that if I admitted it, it would ruin the friendship that I had grown to cherish." John opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock raised his hand to stop him. He had to get this out. It had festered for too long, and he was afraid that if he stopped now, he would never get the courage again. John silently nodded and allowed him to continue.

"I realized everything a few weeks ago and it had been driving me crazy ever since. All of this is so new to me and I had no idea how to go about handling it properly. It's not like I had any personal experience to draw upon. And as my frustration grew, I'm afraid that's what caused my attitude to sour. I never meant any of it John, truly. I cannot apologize enough for my abysmal lack of control of my emotions. I tried distracting myself but Lestrade continued to fall short in interesting cases for me to work on. So I had turned to my violin. But music has a funny way of drawing me out of myself, always has. That's why I became so proficient. Not only did it help me think, but it also helped me express things I would not otherwise acknowledge."

"So that night a few months ago…when I woke up and you were playing so beautifully…"

"Yes John…..I was playing for you. I was expressing my feelings the only way I knew how. Every night when I had finished and turned around to find you standing there…you have no idea how much that meant to me. It was as if something inside of you connected somehow to what I was trying to say. So I kept playing every night, composing more and more of my feelings into melody. It was all I knew to do. But every time I felt you were getting close to realize exactly what I was doing, I lashed out at you, out of fear."

"Fear of what, Sherlock?"

"Fear of you."

"Of me?! Why on earth would you be afraid of me?"

"Of us, John! Of what we could be….and what could happen because of it."

"You make it sound like us being….together….is a bad thing."

"Of course it isn't John. How could it be? You are the most honorable man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and because of that I felt that I didn't deserve you. I couldn't handle it, didn't know how to. My complete incapability in this situation drove me to return to something that I thought I had left behind me long ago. I am ashamed of my weakness. But it was in that moment of weakness that I realized that the only way to ensure your happiness was to…" Sherlock paused for a moment; his voice cracking "…..hurt you so that you would leave."

"Leave? Why on earth would you want me to leave if you loved me, Sherlock? You're not making any sense!" John demanded.

"Think John! This is hard enough for me as it is without me having to explain every little detail to you!" he shot back. John simply sat back in his chair, folded his arms in front of him and waited.

"Well then I guess you will have to spell it out for us 'ordinary' people here who cannot seem to grasp the higher workings of your genius mind." He retorted. Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"John, if I couldn't take care of myself, how the hell was I supposed to be able to look after you?"

"I can damn well take care of myself, you pompous ass!"

"All it would take would be one mistake John, ONE MISTAKE on my part, and you would've ended up hurt, or worse!" Hot tears began to slowly crawl down Sherlock's pale cheekbones. "And it would have been all my fault and I simply couldn't live with that thought. You can be a bloody git too, you know. Would you have listened if I had tried to explain?"

"I would have told you that you were out of your god-forsaken mind!"

"Exactly! This was the only way I knew how to make you understand! Never would I ever want to cause you pain John. You have done so much for me in the short time that we've known each other. I felt this was the only way I could repay your kindness, the only way I could protect you…..by letting you go."

There. It was done. Said in words that couldn't be taken back. Sherlock felt relief as his burden was released. But John seemed to be in a fine temper at the moment, so he cringed as he waited for him to say something.

John sat there stone-faced for what seemed like an eternity. He finally stood up and for a moment Sherlock thought he was going to turn around and walk out the door. He certainly didn't deserve any less than that. He'd been a damn fool. Instead he watched in surprise as John motioned for him to scoot over in his tiny bed. Moving cautiously, he made just enough room for John to sit next to him. He had no idea where this was going.

John reached out as if he was going to embrace Sherlock again. Instead, he used each fist to grab a handful of Sherlock's drab hospital gown and yanked him closer. He crushed his lips to Sherlock's with such force that he felt their teeth grind together. Startled he opened his mouth to protest, but John took that instant to completely invade Sherlock's mouth. He nipped and tasted until they were both out of breath. Abruptly he stopped and leaned his forehead against Sherlock's, their labored breathing the only sound in the room.

"Sherlock, you better listen carefully to me! I love you, and nothing you can say or do would ever cause me to turn my back on you. But so help me God, if you EVER pull a stunt like this again, your ass will end up right back here because I will kill you my damn self!" he growled.

Sherlock looked up at him, not believing what he just heard. "You mean….you're not leaving? Even after all I just put you through…" he asked, feeling so small.

"OF COURSE NOT!" he roared. Quickly he got up and made his way towards the door. Reaching for it, he spun on his heel and pointed a finger at Sherlock. "This ends here and now Sherlock! From now on, if you have a problem you had better come to me with it and not keep it hidden away. We're in this together dammit, so you had better start acting like it!"

Sherlock couldn't help the small smirk that threatened the corners of his mouth. He didn't think this was the time to tell John how absolutely adorable he was when he was pissed off. But that didn't stop him from trying to soothe his temper and make him smile.

"Yes, Captain." he answered, trying to sound contrite and failing completely. It was hard to look suitably chastened when you're fighting a grin. John however, knew exactly what he was doing.

"Damn right, and don't you forget it!" he replied fighting a smile of his own. It was hard staying mad at those quicksilver eyes and that puppy-dog face. As if he was stalling to cover up his quickly fading anger, he made a great show of straightening the jumper he was wearing, although he knew it was a lost cause.

"Right. Well now that's settled, I'm going to quickly pop off home to have a shower and change clothes. When I come back, I'll bring you something decent to eat, if you're feeling up to it. I'll stop by the nurse's station on my way out and let them know that they have a stubborn idiot that needs attending." Sherlock's smile blossomed fully as John's sarcasm.

"I love you too, John."

He watched John walk out and close the door behind him. Lying back, he stared at the ceiling and thought about that everything that just happened, still shaking his head in wonder. So this is what being in love felt like. It was crazy and wonderful, calming and maddening; all at the same time. He knew in that moment he would never touch another syringe again. This was the best high he ever had.

His blissful musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. Sitting up again he watched as a middle aged man walked into his room with a smile.

"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes! I'm Dr. Hawthorne and I've been the attending physician that's been overseeing your care. Dr. Watson dropped by our station to tell us that you were awake. How are you feeling?"

"Never better." he replied with a smile. If the doctor thought this was an odd response from someone who had just spent two days in an apparent coma, he was professional enough not to show it.

"Wonderful! If you wouldn't mind I would like to do an examination on you to see where you are in your recovery."

"Oh, if you must." Sherlock intoned, sounding bored. As the doctor moved closer to him, a pretty blonde nurse entered to assist. She took one look at Sherlock and blushed. He managed to keep his eye-rolling hidden as he thought to himself, 'Go ahead and look all you want, but I'm happily taken.'

He cooperated with them as they checked his reflexes and pupil dilation, then took his temperature and blood pressure. She then took 3 vials out of the pockets of her nurse's jacket. Sherlock looked at her in askance.

"I just need to take a few blood samples Mr. Holmes so that we can check your blood count, electrolytes and glucose levels. It will also give us a better picture of how much of that drug is still in your system." He acquiesced by presenting her with his arm that already had his IV secured into it. Quickly she set to work. Sherlock simply ignored her as he turned back to the doctor.

"Dr. Hawthorne, there's something I don't understand. It's about the drug in my system…." he started.

"You mean the heroin?"

"Yes. There is no reason that the amount I injected should have affected me the way that it did."

"And what makes you say that?"

Sherlock felt slightly embarrassed in admitting his past drug use but there was no point in worrying about it at this point. "Well, honestly…..you see…." he stammered. He was still having a hard time speaking to strangers about it.

"If you're referring to your past history of abuse of this drug, I'm already fully aware of it." Sherlock couldn't hide the surprise on his face.

"You are?"

"Yes. Your medical history was faxed to us immediately upon your arrival by a Mr…." he paused as he checked his notes, "Mycroft Holmes." Sherlock groaned loudly. 'Of course it was,' he thought to himself. 'He must be getting bored in his old age and needs another hobby to keep himself occupied. Maybe I should sign him up for one of that Cake of the Month clubs. That ought to keep him happy and out of my hair.'

"Anyway, you were saying…?" the doctor asked.

"Yes. Well to be honest, when I was a regular user I was easily injecting three times that amount on a daily basis."

"And you want to know how such a small dosage managed to incapacitate you this way."

"Exactly."

The doctor handed the nurse his clipboard as she made her way out of the room with her samples. He waited until the door was firmly shut behind her before he continued. "How long had it been since you last used?"

"About a year."

"Alright. Simply put, in that year your body and neural system managed to heal itself to the best of its ability. It rebuilt new neural pathways to replace the ones you had damaged during your continued usage. When the heroin hit your system once again, it caused a sensory overload and your body reacted violently trying to purge itself of the toxin before any further damage was done. When that failed, it decided to just shut itself down completely, like a hard reset of the mind."

"So basically what you're telling me is that my body's best answer for dealing with the heroin was simply turning itself off then back on again?"

"Well I've never heard it put quite like that, but essentially you are right." Dr. Hawthorne chuckled. "It shut itself off and remained that way until it could clean up the mess inside, then it 'rebooted', sort of speak."

"So how long will I have to stay here?" he asked. He thought of John at home. "I have some very pressing business at home that needs attending to."

"Let's just wait and see how the tests come back. If I'm satisfied with the results, there's no reason you can't go home within a day or two. In the meantime, would you like me to send an aide in here to help you clean up a bit? I'm sure a shower would feel very nice right about now."

"Thank you, but no. I can manage on my own. However you can have them come in and bring a fresh set of sheets if you don't mind."

"Absolutely. I'll see to it right away." As he walked towards the door he noticed John's jacket folded over the back of the chair. "Will Dr. Watson be returning again this evening? I can have them bring a fresh blanket for him as well."

"That will be fine, thank you." Sherlock said, dismissing him. With a smile and a nod, Dr. Hawthorn left. As he slowly unfolded his long limbs from the bed and let them stretch gently to the floor, he couldn't help but smile to himself. They may have two blankets brought to them, but they will only need one tonight. Sherlock knew that after the day they had together, there was no way he was sleeping in that bed alone.

He couldn't wait.


	8. Brotherly Affection

John walked quietly into the flat so as not to disturb Mrs. Hudson. He knew that she was waiting for an update on Sherlock's condition, but he wasn't really in the mood to answer any questions, not just yet. His mind was solely focused on getting cleaned up and getting back to St. Bart's as quickly as possible.

He walked into the kitchen and noticed that the meal that he had so hastily deposited onto the kitchen table two days ago had been cleared away and he knew he had Mrs. Hudson to thank for that. He quickly put the kettle to boil, knowing that it would be ready by the time he got out of the shower. Then he went into the loo to start the shower running while he grabbed some clean clothes to put on. Grabbing an overnight bag, he also made it a point to go into Sherlock's room as well to grab something more comfortable for him to sleep in.

As he entered Sherlock's room, he couldn't help but notice how empty it seemed without him even though his essence was everywhere: from the Periodic Table framed neatly on the far wall, to the wardrobe bursting with the expensively cut suits that Sherlock favored. He walked over to the dresser that sat on the other side of the large bed. He hated feeling like he was intruding into Sherlock's personal space but he reasoned it was for a good cause. Setting the bag down, he began opening the drawers until he found the things he thought Sherlock would need the most: clean pants, pajama bottoms, a few comfortable t-shirts and clean socks. Just as he was closing the final drawer, John noticed something nestled in one of the deepest corners. He stared for a moment, not sure whether he wanted to go where he obviously wasn't supposed to. But then again, he reasoned, having something hidden away is what got Sherlock into the situation he was in now. His mind made up, he reached into the drawer and took out a small blue box, about the size of his mobile. He sat on the edge of the bed, not sure what to expect but hoping it wasn't as bad as he imagined it. Taking a deep breath, he opened it and looked inside.

He found a few sheets of tissue paper wrapped around something small. He carefully removed the wrappings until their treasure was revealed. He lifted it out of the box and simply stared, his throat going dry.

His dog tags.

John shook his head in amazement. He thought he had misplaced those ages ago! He had looked everywhere and practically had torn the flat apart looking for them. So why were they here, hidden among Sherlock's belongings? As they caught the light, John noticed something about them that was different. It took him a minute or two to realize what it was.

John had always kept his dog tags in a wooden case along with the few other medals he had earned from the war, and he methodically kept them in pristine condition by polishing them regularly. But now his tags had long lost the luster that he had so proudly bestowed on a regular basis. They looked like they had been handled constantly, even worn. Looking closer, he even saw a few strands of silky dark hair that had wound itself around the clasp in the chain.

Sherlock.

John smiled to himself as he pictured Sherlock wearing his tags, the metal gleaming against his usually somber clothing. If Sherlock wanted to wear them, he wouldn't deny him. He couldn't deny him anything at this point. He carefully wrapped them up again, placed them back in the box and added it to the rest of the items in the bag. Zipping it up, he walked into the sitting room and put the bag on the couch, then he went back in the loo and began undressing. As he removed each item of clothing, the steam that had collected caressed his tired skin. He stepped into the hot stream of water and allowed the sting to soothe him. Quickly he saw to his needs then got out, wrapping a soft towel around his waist. Approaching the cabinet, he had a quick flashback to what happened two days ago. Shaking his head, he pushed it out of his mind. Sherlock was recovering now so he didn't want to dwell on the negative, not when he had so much positive to look forward to. After drying his hair and giving himself a quick shave, he put on the clean jumper and jeans that he had set out for himself.

Exiting the loo he heard the kettle screaming in protest at being left unattended for so long. He switched it off and made his cuppa just the way he liked it: no sugar and just a touch of cream. He sipped it carefully as he made his way back to the sitting room. While he was here, he decided to log into his laptop to see if there was anything that needed his immediate attention. Of course there wasn't, except for one email from Sarah asking about when he was planning on returning to the surgery. He typed a short response, basically updating her on Sherlock's condition (of course, he left the personal stuff out) and told her that it would probably another week or two, unless there was an emergency that only he could deal with. He thanked her for her patience, then hit SEND. Closing the laptop with a loud click, he went back into the kitchen to rinse his cup and place it in the drying rack. He was ready to get back to the hospital, and to Sherlock. Grabbing the bag from the sofa, he ran out the door and tried to hail a cab. But as usual he wasn't having any luck. John was just about to give up when a large black car with tinted windows silently pulled up next to him and stopped. Before he could move, the driver got out and opened the back door for him, insinuating that he should get in. John knew that protesting would be pointless so he made his way towards the open door and slid inside. The sinister-looking figure that sat in the shadows would have probably put fear into those who wasn't familiar with the man's love for being dramatic. But John was already well used to Mycroft's tactics. He waited until the driver returned to the front and began driving before he spoke.

"I was wondering when you would turn up Mycroft."

"I was occupied with watching the relations between the Saudi Prince and the leader of Northern Korea. Not everything can be about that brother of mine. Besides, I knew that you would have things well in hand John. You and Sherlock have really….bonded, I should say….since you two became flatmates. Dreadful really. I had thought Sherlock would have become bored by now by someone so….pedestrian. No offense John."

John just sat back, biting his tongue as he felt his anger begin to spike. Who the hell did he think he was? He didn't care if he was the British Government or even the bloody Queen herself, he was getting tired of Mycroft's offhanded dismissal of his brother and all those surrounding him. But before he could say something he might later regret he simply took a deep breath until thoughts of strangling the man in front of him faded away.

Mycroft simply watched in silent amusement. He knew that something had begun to blossom between this Army Doctor and his brother but he hadn't been sure how far it had gotten. But watching John's reaction told him all he needed to know. He had thoroughly researched Dr. John Watson as soon as he learned of Sherlock's invitation to move into 221B and had been quite impressed with the fellow. At least he didn't have to worry as much about Sherlock as long as John was around, but that still didn't stop him from keeping tabs on the both of them. After all, if he had become important to Sherlock then there must be something special about him. Sherlock didn't tolerate just anyone. For that reason alone, he was more than willing to watch over John too.

"John, forgive me. I can see that I have upset you." Mycroft intoned, using that bored tone that was his trademark. John simply continued to glare at him. "But do be realistic. Anyone with eyes can see how my brother has become uncommonly attached to you. And as much as Sherlock irritates me to no end, I am loathe to see him hurt, by you or anyone else." John simply blinked in surprise.

"You mean…you knew? About Sherlock's, um, 'attachment' to me?"

"Yes of course. I've known for quite some time actually."

"So why didn't you…."

"Say anything? Really John. I think I have better things to do than play Matchmaker. Besides, if you were half the man that I thought you were, I knew you would figure it out eventually. I'm glad to say that you didn't disappoint me. And trust me when I say, that's no easy feat."

"Well I'm glad I can amuse you Mycroft." John bit out tightly.

"Oh, do calm down John." Mycroft replied. "I meant no harm or insult. I wasn't worried that you wouldn't figure it out. I was more concerned that you wouldn't share Sherlock's abysmal sentiment. I had always told him that "feelings" were pointless and would get him into trouble one day, and look where he is."

"DON'T YOU DARE MAKE THIS OUT TO BE MY FAULT!" John bellowed.

"On the contrary, Sherlock got into his predicament on his own. But I believe I have you to thank for getting him out of it." Mycroft answered smoothly, earning him a stunned look from John. "So am I correct in assuming you return Sherlock's feelings as well?"

John just sat there in silence for a long moment, not sure how much to reveal. He and Sherlock were just now getting around to acknowledging their feelings for each other and he felt it would be wrong to discuss any further details with anyone other than Sherlock. At least not yet. He knew that they would come out to everyone eventually, but for now he wanted this time to just be between him and Sherlock. Glancing out of the window he saw that they were in the process of pulling up in front of St. Barts. He knew that he owed Mycroft an honest answer before he got out of the car. After all, even though he was a meddling nuisance most of the time, he was still Sherlock's brother and cared for him in his own way. And he knew just what to say.

The car came to a stop under the overhang that graced the front entrance. Once again, the driver got out and opened the door so that John could step out. John grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulder, then turned around and ducked his head back inside momentarily so that he could look Mycroft in the face.

"Let me put it in a way that you especially would understand." John said, fighting a smirk. "I love him like a fat kid loves cake." When Mycroft stared at him in surprise, John continued on with, "How's the diet going by the way?" Not waiting for a reply he stood up and saw the driving fighting a grin of his own. John simply winked at him then walked on towards the entrance. It felt good to finally bring Mycroft down a peg.

Mycroft, for his part, simply watched through the tinted windows as John made his way inside. John had fire, he'll give him that. He used to think that Sherlock could've done worse. Now he knew for certain that he certainly couldn't have found better. Satisfied, he instructed his driver to bring him home. The car glided silently into the shadows and was gone.


	9. Contention and Contentment

John walked through the halls of St. Bart's with a smile on his face. He occasionally spoke kindly to a few of the nurses that he'd gotten to know over the last few days but continued onward. He couldn't remember the last time he was in this good of a mood. And he had Sherlock to thank for it.

He approached the corridor that housed the elevators and pressed the button. As he waited patiently, he still reflected in disbelief at everything that happened in the past few hours. Sherlock _loved_ him. Never in a million years would he have thought it possible. Sherlock had always been grumpy and dismissive, sometimes even cantankerous (unless he was on a case; then he was like a kid in a candy store). He knew that probably wouldn't change much, even though they were 'together'. Nor did John want it to. He accepted Sherlock just the way he was, irritations and all.

The elevator dinged and opened its doors, allowing John to step inside. He ended up standing next to young brunette in scrubs. She smiled a greeting which John easily returned.

"Which floor?" she asked.

"3rd, please." John replied.

"Oh, same as me! How ironic!" Her smile instantly brightened. Taking note of the bag over John's shoulders she asked, "Dropping off something for a patient of ours?"

"Yeah you could say that. Just some clean clothes mostly."

"Well aren't you sweet." She purred. "I wish all of our patients were as nice as you seem to be."

John realized the flirtation for what it was but decided to ignore it. "Um, well thank you. So have you been having some patients that have been hard to deal with?"

"Only recently. We had one wake up today and he seems to be giving the staff a run for their money." She answered. John silently groaned. _Please don't be Sherlock…_.he thought to himself, knowing that it was too much to hope for. Best he find out what he was doing now so he could have a word with him, if necessary.

"They couldn't have been that bad, could they?" John asked.

"Ha! If you only knew the half of it! He seemed to be just fine when his doctor came in, but then it all went downhill. The aide who went into his room to change his sheets for him ran out crying in less than 20 minutes. She still hasn't told us why. Then he demanded to see the Director, insisting that he was trying to be poisoned when his tray was brought to him! I'm telling you, he's crazy!" she exclaimed.

_Yep, that's Sherlock…._John thought, rolling his eyes. He knew Sherlock wasn't going to be the easiest patient to care for but John thought he was to the challenge. He had hoped that it would've taken a little longer for Sherlock to start annoying the staff. But apparently, Sherlock's mind healed faster than the rest of him. His work was definitely cut out for him.

The elevator came to a stop with another ding and the doors slid smoothly open. As soon as John and the nurse stepped out they could hear the commotion down the hall, and John easily heard Sherlock's baritone amongst the ruckus. He quickened his pace towards the room in hopes of calming things down before they got thrown out of there. As he got closer, he heard the voices more clearly.

"Please Mr. Holmes! I'm telling you, this is the best that we have, and it's the same as everyone else's."

"And I'm telling you that it's simply unacceptable! How am I supposed to rest easy and heal properly when that will do nothing but chafe my arse?!"

John quickly knocked then entered. The sight before him had him cracking up in pieces. There was the aide was facing John holding out a hospital gown for Sherlock to change into, and apparently Sherlock was having none of it. The dampness in his hair told John that he must have showered in the tiny bathroom while he was gone. Sherlock's back was to him, or should he say his naked backside, and evidently he hadn't heard John enter over his tirade. The aide saw him immediately and the look on her face begged John for assistance. His was torn between helping her and just sitting back to watch this play out. It was almost too good to miss! But the politeness in him eventually won out.

With a loud thud he allowed the bag to slide from his shoulder and drop to the floor. Startled, Sherlock whirled around and saw John standing there with a grin from ear to ear. Immediately he moved his hands downward to cover himself, although it didn't seem to do much good. John had gotten an eyeful, whether he wanted to or not. His face flushed with embarrassment.

"John! How long have you been standing there?" he asked.

"Long enough to enjoy the floor show!" John chuckled. He nodded his head towards the bag and continued, "I brought you some clean clothes that I thought you would find more comfortable. Take them and get dressed before you give that poor woman a heart attack!"

Sherlock sheepishly grabbed for the bag and made a hasty retreat back into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The aide let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness you got here when you did! I was running out of ideas on how to handle that, and I've dealt with some crazies in the past!" she exclaimed.

"Believe me, I know that he can be hard to handle. But I plan on staying with him so hopefully that will make things easier on everyone until he's discharged." John replied.

"Oh bless you sir! I'll go let everyone know that a cease-fire has been called. I'm sure they will all thank you for it." She chucked. As she was exiting the room, Sherlock emerged from the bathroom dressed in sweatpants and a white cotton t-shirt. He slid the bag under the bed then just stood there, not sure what to expect from John.

"What the hell was that all about Sherlock?" he asked.

"What?" Sherlock answered innocently.

"What? THAT! I walk in here expecting to find you resting and instead I find you having a stand-off with an aide. Naked as a Jaybird, no less!"

"Yes, well that was unfortunate. But I wasn't going to suffer through those appalling gowns longer than I had to." Sherlock replied haughtily. "Besides, I didn't see her look away. But thank you for the clothes John. I truly appreciate it. I almost feel normal again."

"Well no matter how you feel, you are still far from recovered. I want you back in that bed, NOW!" John ordered. "At any rate, I think you need a break from all the trouble you've been causing around here."

"What trouble? I haven't done anything!" Sherlock protested.

"Oh really? What's this I hear about you accusing the staff of trying to poison you?"

"Honestly John! You should have seen the mess they tried to serve me and call it food! I would've ended up with Food Poisoning if I had eaten that slop."

John just shook his head. "Sherlock, listen to me. I know that being cooped up here is going to be difficult for you, but you can't go half-cocked on everyone! There are other people here who need their rest and they can't do that if you're constantly causing a scene. Please…promise me that you'll behave."

"Fine." Sherlock mumbled. He climbed back in bed and under the freshly changed sheets and blanket. "But only if you can keep me entertained. Otherwise, I promise nothing!"

"Ok, what would you like to do? I can find a newspaper and read you some of the cases that are plaguing The Yard."

"No. I won't be able to go and look at the scenes myself so it will only serve to irritate me more."

"How about we see what's on the telly?"

"I guess that's our only option for now. Just don't find anything too boring." Sherlock relented.

John sat in the chair that was still situated near Sherlock's bed and reached for the remote that was connected to the bed by a long cord. Flipping through he didn't really see anything that he thought would hold Sherlock's attention for any length of time. Eventually he found a crime drama that was just coming on, and he figured it was better than nothing. He knew Sherlock would probably figure everything out before the first commercial break, but until then it should keep him quiet.

Sitting back, John tried to get comfortable enough to relax but found that it was difficult. After all, he had practically lived in that chair for the last two days. He readjusted his legs several times but to no avail. Sherlock noticed.

"Are you uncomfortable John?"

"You would think that they would offer chairs that at least reclined a bit for those who have to sit in them for any length of time."

"You are more than welcome to come and stretch out over here." Sherlock offered.

"Come again?"

"I'm just saying that I can easily move over and make room for you. Then you would be comfortable enough to relax a bit." John just blinked stupidly at him and Sherlock smirked just a bit. "Oh come on John. Do grow up a bit. Besides you practically snogged my face off earlier. The least I could do for the man that saved my life is offer him a proper cuddle."

John smiled. He supposed Sherlock was right. Besides, the snogging had been wonderful. "Alright then."

Sherlock's smile blossomed as he scooted over, then patted beside him in invitation. John got up, still grinning, and went over to the bed and slid beside him. It was awkward at first, trying to situate himself while still leaving Sherlock with enough room. After a few moments he was about to just give up when Sherlock spoke.

"I have an idea." He lifted his right arm up and insinuated John closer. He snuggled to him as Sherlock wrapped his arm around him. "Is that better?"

"Almost." He looked up at Sherlock's smiling face and couldn't help but to lean in closer and give him a quick kiss. "Now, that's much better."

"Yes. Yes it is. Now watch the telly or you'll never keep up with me." Sherlock chuckled. As John turned towards the TV once again, Sherlock leaned his head to rest on the top of John's, finding that he was very comfortable indeed. Minutes passed and he noticed that John had remained silent. Looking down he saw that John had fallen fast asleep. Using his free hand he pulled the blanket up farther and tucked it around the both of them. Settling in, he gave John a gentle kiss on the top of his head then began to wonder anew at the changes in him because of this man. He had always said that he didn't have a heart but John proved him wrong. He discovered things about himself that he never thought possible and although he was still somewhat frightened about some of them, he knew that he wouldn't want to explore them with anyone else. Sentiment definitely wasn't on the losing side because with John he finally felt like a winner.

Closing his eyes, he let out a gentle sigh and surrendered himself to sleep as well.


	10. A Reason to Celebrate

Sherlock opened his eyes to the muted light streaming in through the covered windows. He felt warmer than usual, and when he looked down he remembered why. John was still with him, his head on Sherlock's chest and their legs were intertwined. His breathing was slow and even, with soft snores punctuating every so often. Sherlock stored that information away for later, knowing that he will enjoy teasing John about it.

He looked around and tried to judge what time of the morning it was. He listened to the bustle going on outside the door and guessed that it was during shift change, so that meant approximately 7 o'clock. He knew that it also meant that someone will be in fairly soon for his morning check-up and to bring him breakfast. He looked at John again and wondered if he should wake him beforehand, but then decided against it. Besides, he would wake up soon enough and Sherlock was loathe to end this time they spent together.

The telly was still on from last night and the morning news was just starting so Sherlock positioned himself where he could watch it without disturbing the sleeping man beside him. About 45 minutes later came a quiet knock at the door, and the aide who had been there the night before stuck her head inside.

"Good Morning! Are we awake yet?" she asked quietly.

"Half of us are, yes." Sherlock answered, just as quietly.

She opened the door a little wider, allowing the light from the hallway to spill inside the room. As she entered, carrying a tray, she finally saw the scene before her: two grown men curled around each other in the tiny hospital bed. She instantly pursed her lips in hostility. Sherlock just held a finger to his lips.

"Please let him sleep." He whispered, squinting because of the light.

"This is your bed, not his!" she hissed.

"I slept better because he was here." Sherlock insisted, instantly coming to John's defense. The aide just stared for a minute. "Please."

After a minute more her features softened up and she sighed. "Well I guess it's alright then. He does seem to bring out the best in you." She remarked. "And anything is better than your behavior yesterday."

Sherlock grimaced. "Yes, about that….I do apologize. I promised John that I would be on my best behavior for the staff, as well as the other patients around me. Please forgive me Ms….?"

"Edith, dear. But you can call me Edie. Don't worry your little head about it. I've dealt with much worse although they didn't have the happy results I see before me. As long as he doesn't interfere with your care in any way, I'm happy to let him sleep wherever he chooses." She replied with a smile. "You two do look so cute and cozy. If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been together?"

"Not quite 24 hours yet, but we've been friends for much longer." Sherlock answered.

"Ah well that explains the glow coming from you. New love always has that affect on people. Take my advice dearie….make it last as long as you can. Once the "newness" wears off, you'll want it back. But enough of that. You need something special to mark this milestone!"

"Well I'm limited in my options at the moment." Sherlock replied, gesturing at the room around him.

"I know! How about a nice photo of the two of you cuddled together? I can take it on my mobile and print it for you at a shop just down the street. It'll be back to you by luncheon."

"You would do that for me?"

"Of course dear. I guess I'm just a romantic softie at heart." She pulled her mobile from her pocket. "Alright then. Cuddle up close."

Sherlock happily did as she asked. He heard a few clicks from the mobile, then watched as she approached him to show him the photos she had taken. She scrolled through them and asked which one he liked the best. In truth, he loved them all. But one in particular caught his attention.

It featured them front and center, with Sherlock's arms fully enveloping John. Although it had caught him with his eyes closed it gave him a look of sleeping peacefully, and the muted light coming through shaded windows behind them lent an aura around them that was purely ethereal.

It was perfect, and Edie heartily agreed.

After arranging his tray where he could reach it easily, she left the room and closed the door quietly behind her. Sherlock began to dutifully eat the breakfast, knowing that it would please John. About halfway through, he felt John stir beside him. He watched him yawn then stretch his legs as much as possible. Sherlock gently kissed his forehead.

"Good morning John."

John's eyes flittered open and slowly came into focus. Sherlock relented his hold on him so he could sit up completely.

"Good morning yourself. Sleep ok?" he asked.

"Better than I have in a long time." Sherlock replied with a smile. He watched in amused fascination as John got out of bed and stretched the kinks out of his neck and back. Turning to face Sherlock he noticed the tray of half eaten food.

"So, no poison in the food today?" he chuckled.

"I guess we'll find out in an hour or so if I'll end up doubled over in the loo." Sherlock retorted with a grin.

"Well I'm just glad to see you eating. Speaking of which, I can really use a cuppa right about now. I'm going to go downstairs to the café and see what they have to offer. Want me to bring you one?"

"Yes, that would be lovely."

"Black with two sugars, right?"

"You know me so well…." He rumbled. John leaned over and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead.

"And I look forward to learning the rest of it. Alright then. I'll just pop down there and I'll be right back." He walked towards the door then turned around at the last second. "Try to stay out of trouble until I get back."

"Honestly John. I did promise you, and you know me to be a man of my word."

"I know, I'm just teasing you, you git. Back in a few." He replied, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Sherlock got up and stretched himself then reached for the bag still nestled under the bed. He didn't want to lie around in pajama pants all day so he began looking inside to see what else John had brought him. His hand abruptly stilled when they brushed against the velvet box, a box he would know anywhere. He pulled it out, just to make sure he wasn't imagining it.

So John had found it.

He sat for a moment. If John knew what was in the box, why didn't he confront him about it last night? The thought was intriguing. He was still deep in thought about it when he heard another knock on the door and a familiar voice called out "Knock knock!". Turning he saw sweet Mrs. Hudson entering so he dropped the box back into the bag for later contemplation. He then got up and walked over to her to envelop her in a warm hug.

"Mrs. Hudson! How thoughtful of you to drop by. Or did you just come to tell me my half of the rent is late?" he jokingly.

"Oh Sherlock, the things you say!" she chuckled. "I was on my way to the market and decided to pop in to see how you doing."

"Well as you can see, I'm doing rather well. And I have John to thank for that. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you dear, although I can't stay too long. I left my taxi waiting downstairs. Yes, I suppose John deserves all the credit. Honestly, Sherlock. I've never seen him carry on the way he did when he told me what happened. He nearly made himself sick with worry."

"So I gather. Believe me Mrs. Hudson, I know how much I owe him and I fully intend to repay that debt."

Mrs. Hudson on patted his knee a few times. "There's a good lad. Now I've got to run. I'll pick up a few things for you to restock the fridge for when you get home. I'll even whip up something sweet for you to celebrate your return. Hurry home Sherlock. The flat's not the same without your pacing and mumbling." She said as she got up from the chair with a smile.

"Don't worry Mrs. H. I'll have you missing the peace and quiet in no time." Sherlock replied with a smile of his own. "Besides, we'll have more than that to celebrate when I get back." She gave him a look of puzzlement but he didn't elaborate any further. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and walked her to the door. "Now off you go. Don't want to keep the cabbie waiting."

"Of course dear. Ta!" After another quick embrace, she left the room and was gone.


	11. The Game is On!

The rest of the day passed in uneventful pleasantness. After John returned with their tea, they sipped it while discussing their new relationship and how to break the news to everyone. Finally they decided that it was best to just let it come out as it will. Those who were close to them would no doubt be supportive and they agreed that the rest could just sod off.

Around lunchtime, Dr. Hawthorne returned to give Sherlock another once-over and to get some more blood samples. He remarked that he was pleased with the last results and if these were just as good, he was more than willing to discharge Sherlock that evening so he could be home just in time for dinner. John and Sherlock exchanged smiles at the news, neither of them willing to wait longer than necessary to get back home and start the new chapter in their lives together. Sherlock even called Mrs. Hudson to give her the news and the joy was clear in her voice, although she hurried him off the phone so she could start making a celebratory meal. Once that was done, they relaxed together in the tiny hospital bed, their hands intertwined and discussed further the upcoming changes for them, which started with Sherlock insisting that John move into his bedroom at once. After spending one blissful night sleeping next to John, he didn't think he could sleep again without him. John heartily agreed, but also had an idea of his own.

"How about we turn my old bedroom into a makeshift lab of sorts? That way you can do all your experiments without intrusion." Sherlock's eyes lit up like Christmas.

"Really? You'd let me do that?"

"I don't see why not. I'll even shop around for a used refrigerator so that you can store your, um, 'supplies'." John chuckled. "Besides, don't think I'm doing it just for you. I can't wait to be able to go into the fridge and not have to reach around a severed head or a bin full of toes for the milk!"

Sherlock laughed. "I suppose it has been an inconvenience for you but you've been absolutely wonderful about it."

"I know your work is important to you Sherlock, and it's become important to me too."

"But it's not as important to me as you've become John. Doesn't even come close." Sherlock replied. He leaned closer and pressed his lips gently to John's. John responded by pulling Sherlock closer and moaning softly and it set Sherlock's blood on fire. All the innocent kissing they had done had been a prelude to this. He gently pinched John's nipple between his thumb and forefinger and felt him clutch his hair with both hands as his body arched agonizingly into his groin. It was driving Sherlock mad.

John's breath caught as Sherlock brushed the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades, then smoothed his fingers down to curve over his bum. He reversed the course. Up. Down. Up. Down. The unhurried pace drove him insane. He had been secretly worried how he would react to intimacy with another man, because it was something he had never considered before, and he didn't want Sherlock to misinterpret his hesitation as unwillingness. But now that he was here, in Sherlock's arms, all his worry flew from his mind and was replaced with a mixture of serenity and wanting. His uncertainty about his performance when he was with a woman wasn't even an issue now. He didn't even think about what he was doing, he just felt. He felt Sherlock's strong fingers play across his skin as skillfully as he plays his violin, and he felt like singing just as sweetly.

John's mind was awhirl as he smoothed the muscles of Sherlock's shoulders. He made a small sound of pleasure and he bent down to nuzzle his neck. He pressed his hands down his chest and over his ribcage. Sherlock immediately sat up and pulled the t-shirt over his head, and John repeated the movement over his bare flesh.

"John…." Sherlock whispered.

"I know." Clinging to his shoulders he lifted his head to kiss him once again. His kiss echoed the unhurried sensuality of their movements, their lips molding to each other. Sherlock trembled as John caressed his sensitive lower lip with his tongue. They barely moved, half sitting, half reclining. Passion smoldered, creeping higher a degree at a time, toward the breaking point. Sherlock swept both hands up John's back to clutch shoulders, his thumbs caressing the delicate hollows of his collarbone. John broke the kiss to boldly graze his teeth down Sherlock's neck. Sherlock groaned the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Desperate hands cupped John's face, tilting it so that he was looking up at him.

John melted at the blatant desire etched on Sherlock's face. His beautiful mouth was still damp from their kisses, and his jaw was taut with control. He moved toward him at the same time Sherlock lowered his head, and they met halfway.

The tension kept so carefully in check exploded. Sherlock folded John into his arms, pressing him against him as if he would become a part of him. John touched places in him that he thought was long dead. He wanted to fill himself with John's essence, become one with him in every way possible. His body shook with the force of his emotions.

"John…." He breathed. "I need you….more than I've ever needed anyone." His voice deepened an octave as he spoke, and it caused gooseflesh to come alive across John's skin.

"I know. I feel the same way." John replied huskily. "But as much as I would love this to continue, I don't think this is the place for it." He hated to be the one to splash reality on the situation, as he was still trying to calm his breathing from Sherlock working him up into an almost frenzy. But the possibility of them being interrupted was all too real, and he knew it was best to stop now while they were still able. Otherwise, the next aide who entered the room would see more than they bargained for.

Sherlock pouted for a moment, but conceded that John was probably right. In any case, they would be home soon enough and could continue their exploration of each other until they were sated. With a final kiss, Sherlock got up and put his t-shirt back on as he made his way to the tiny bathroom. While waiting for him to return, John suddenly remembered the little box stuffed away in the bag. He quickly got up and fetched it. He figured that this was the perfect time to give it to him. Hiding it in the palm of his hand, he climbed back onto the bed and waited.

Moments later, Sherlock emerged with his face still flushed from their activity. John just watched as he sauntered over towards him and marveled. Sherlock always moved with authority, always so sure of himself, almost regal in his mannerisms. Yet John knew that underneath his scales, this particular dragon had a soft underbelly. He couldn't help but smile as he thought about the fact the he was the only one Sherlock had truly opened up for. He knew that Sherlock didn't trust easily, and that trust in him was all the more precious because of that fact.

Sherlock watched John follow his movements across the room and felt humbled at the look on his face. The open affection written there was something he never thought was possible for someone like him. He had become so used to being alone that he never gave a second thought about what it would be like to have someone NEED him. But God help him, he needed John too. He needed his courage and strength of spirit. His heart was pure and innocent, such a contrast to his. In any case, John had seen the man underneath and not just what he projected into the world, and he would always be thankful.

He sat next to John with a smile. He couldn't wait to get home and finish what they started. He's always had a thirst for information, and he didn't think he could ever get enough learning about John. He opened his mouth to say as much, but John interrupted him before he even got started.

"Sherlock, there's something important I need to say to you." He started. Sherlock tilted his head in curiosity and it made John giggle. "No, nothing like that. I just wanted to, um, reiterate what I said the other day. About us." He had Sherlock's full attention now.

"Please do go on John." He said.

"Alright then. Um, Now that we're together, I just wanted to stress to you, now more than ever, that I expect you to be able to come to me with anything. I mean that Sherlock. I don't care how trivial it may seem to you, it could be something that us mere mortals would consider extremely important. I just want you to remember that I'm here for you."

"I know that John, and I cannot thank you enough for being there for me in the past months. I only ask for patience as I get used to the rest of this, as you'll have to help me learn my half of the responsibilities in this relationship."

"Just be yourself Sherlock. I don't expect you to change who you are because of us. All I ask is that you come to me with any problems you have and not keep it bottled up." John reached for Sherlock's hand, and Sherlock grasped it as he continued. "No matter what Sherlock, I'll be here for you. And I want to give you something to prove it."

John held his other hand out towards Sherlock and presented him with the box. He looked at the box for a moment then drew his gaze back to John, not sure if he should feel guilty about what's inside.

Reading his mind John went on, "No Sherlock, I'm not mad at you for having them, although you could've said something when I was going crazy looking for them. Anyway, I want you to keep them. Wear them, don't wear them: it totally up to you. They were a symbol of a very important part of my past, and now I want them to represent the most important part of my present and hopefully my future." He took his hand from Sherlock and opened the box. After removing the wrappings inside he lifted the tags from the box, then leaned forward to hang them around Sherlock's neck. "A reminder, that no matter what, a part of me will always be with you."

Sherlock had no idea what to say. He felt a lump in his throat as he swallowed and wondered what he could say or do to show John how much the gesture meant to him. Then he remembered: the photo! Hopefully it would be here any minute, at the very least before he left. Until then, he couldn't let this generosity go unrewarded. Leaning forward, he cupped the back of John's neck and drew him forward as he poured into his kiss what he couldn't put into words. After a moment or two, a knock at the door interrupted them.

"Told you!" John giggled.

"So you did." Sherlock replied, then turned slightly towards the door but never taking his eyes off John. "Come in."

A short blonde walked in holding a small package. She stopped momentarily at the scene before her, but to her credit recovered quickly.

"Mr. Holmes, I was given this to bring to you." She said, holding the package out towards him. Sherlock accepted it, and both he and John looked at the writing on the front. It was from the print shop not to far from there and had his name inscribed on it. John looked at Sherlock in question, but Sherlock just ignored him.

"Ah, thank you. I had been expecting this. But I was hoping Mrs. Edie would have brought it herself so I could thank her properly."

"It's funny you should mention Mrs. Edie…" the aide said. "She should have been back over 2 hours ago but she never showed up. The shopkeeper came and brought it himself. He said that she came and picked it up, but soon afterwards he went to leave for lunch and found it on the sidewalk not too far from his door. He knew where she worked because of her uniform so he came and asked what floor she worked on. So he brought it here and left it at the desk. When I came back from my break, they asked me to bring it to you."

Sherlock felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something didn't feel right. He quickly began inspecting the package for clues, completely ignoring the aide as she walked out. John watched over his shoulder. He had seen Sherlock's demeanor change and knew that something was up.

"Sherlock, what is it?" he asked.

"There seems to be a mystery John, and I fully intend to figure it out." Sherlock murmured. As he looked he saw the usual scuff marks and dirt smears that he expected to see on something left on a busy sidewalk in the middle of London. But one little spot leaped out to him and screamed to be noticed. Instantly Sherlock jumped up and ran to the window. Pulling up one of the shades, he used the midday sun to inspect that tiny spot closer. Recognition hit him like a punch in the gut. He'd know that stain anywhere.

He turned to John with a look that betrayed both his excitement and his worry.

"It's blood."


	12. Obsession

The room was dark, and smelled like it hadn't been aired out in quite a while. Cobwebs had collected in every corner and a layer of fine dust lightly graced everything in the room. An old fireplace mantle sat centered on the far wall with a large mirror hanging over it. Two bookshelves stood at attention on each side, and in front of the mantle sat two old leather chairs. One looked as if it had been used recently, the other still looked new under the dust. Everything seemed as if it was all set up like a stage play. And sitting in front of it all, on the other side of the room, was a simple ladder-backed wooden chair with a drowsy occupant tied securely.

Mrs. Edie.

She slowly started to come around with a moan. When she tried to move, the reality of her situation sank in as she discovered that her hands were bound to the arms of the chair, just as her feet were bound to the legs. This shocking realization had her eyes snapping open as she frantically looked around. Wild-eyed, she began to struggle to free herself, but to no avail. Her struggling also brought to her attention the gashes on her arms and knees, and she hissed as they burned with her movement. Not sure of the extent of her injuries, she decided to stop struggling in the off chance of making them worse. She sat quietly for a moment and studied the room around her; looking for an escape route should the chance present itself. Not seeing a door, she realized it must be behind her. She tried turning her head to look but the movement caused her head to swim, like she had been drugged. Perhaps she had, if her headache was any indication. As frightened as she was, she knew she couldn't just sit there. Who knew how long it would take for someone to notice that she was missing, or how long it would take her assailant to return? She knew she had to try.

"Help!" she tried screaming, but her voice came out as a hoarse croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "HELP! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?! PLEASE HELP!" she yelled again.

She listened for a moment for a response, silently pleading for someone to hear her. Someone did, but the response she got wasn't what she was looking for.

Footsteps.

She wasn't alone.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice shaking. "What do you want?" The footsteps stopped and her only answer was silence, which just frightened her more. Her fear spurred her on. "What to you want with me? Please let me go!" she begged. The footsteps came a few feet closer, and then stopped again. As her eyes adjusted more to the dimness of the room, she could make out a shape in the shadows. Whoever they were made sure they stayed in the darkest corners so as not to been seen, like a demon lurking. But the voice that spoke to her was anything but menacing.

"I hear you dearie. There's no need to shout." The voice was calm and melodic with a lilting Irish accent and surprisingly feminine.

"Who are you? Why have you kidnapped me?" Edie asked, her fear causing tears to streak down her cheeks.

"All in due time, love." came the response. "But first, what you say to getting to know each other a little better, hmm? How about a little quid pro quo? I'll answer one of your questions for every one of mine that you answer. Sound fair?"

"I don't know anything! And even if I did, why should I tell you? You bloody attacked me!"

"Tsk tsk Edie. You're not being very nice to me, which is so unlike you. I've always known you to be kind and courteous, and everyone else who knows you says that you're just the sweetest thing. I'd hate to have to visit them again to tell them just how wrong they were."

"What? Visit who? What are you talking about? I don't know who you are so how can you possible know me?"

"My my, that's four questions and I have yet to ask my first. But I'm feeling decidedly generous at the moment, so I will answer one just to show you just how serious I am." The figure took one step closer and Edie saw that they were holding what looked like a stack of papers in their hand. Bending down, they placed one sheet flat on the floor and gave it a firm push so that it slid across the few feet separating them and stopped at her feet. Looking down, Edie saw that it wasn't just any sheet of paper, but a photo. She instantly recognized the subjects.

A young couple in their mid-twenties faced the camera with a younger version of themselves nestled between them. They all had warm smiles and the young woman was a mirror image of Edie herself.

"That's…that's my daughter and her family!" she gasped. "How the hell do you know them? How did you get that photo?!" she demanded.

"You'd be surprised at number of people that I know. How I know them isn't important. But now you understand the gravity of the situation that you find yourself in." the voice answered smoothly. "Now, are you prepared to tell me what I want to know?"

"Please don't hurt them!" she begged again, sobbing. "I'll tell you whatever you want! Just please…"

"I thought so. Now my first question is a simple one. How well do you feel you do your job at St. Bart's?"

"My job? I don't understand. I'm just an aide." She replied shakily.

"Aren't we being just a tad bit modest, dearie? Everyone who knows you says that you're just nurturing by nature and that you love taking care of people."

"Yes I suppose I do. I like to help. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Patience, lass, patience. One step at a time. Now, would you say that you favor any of your patients more than others?"

"I try to treat them all equally, but truthfully some need a little more kindness than others."

"And what makes you decide who is worthy of your special attention?"

"Just a woman's compassionate instinct I guess." Edie replied. Feeling a little braver knowing she was talking to a woman she threw out, "I guess that's something you know nothing about."

The woman in the shadows just laughed, a throaty laugh that sounded worn after many years of smoking. "My, aren't we feisty! Then again I learned that when I took you off the street. I was honestly surprised at the struggle you put up. I didn't want to have to drug you but I didn't have a choice. How are you feeling by the way?"

"Like I've been run over by a truck, if you're so interested. But I doubt that you really are. Since when is a kidnapper interested in the welfare of the person they abducted?" Edie bit out.

"Oh, but I am! I'm going to make sure you are taken care of. You see, you are just last part of my elaborate plan, but also the most important one. I didn't think I was going to need someone like you, but things took an unexpected turn and I had to modify my plans."

"I'm glad I can be so helpful." she replied sarcastically.

"Oh, you will be. Make no mistake about that. We have a lot in common actually. We both like to watch over people. The difference is, I have only watched from afar. I was never given the chance to do what you do. But that's all about to change, thanks to you."

"I still don't understand."

"You will. But enough about us. Let's get to the real reason you are here." The figure in the shadows bent down once again and slid another photo across the floor and it landed next to the one already at her feet. "Tell me everything you know about the men in this photo."

Glancing down, she studied the photo for a long moment. It was the photo she had taken of Sherlock and John in the hospital. "That's Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson." She replied.

"I know that, you twit! EVERYONE in London knows who these two are! Their faces are plastered on every newspaper headline around! I want to know why they are obviously in hospital!"

"I can't give out private information like that!"Edie protested. The shadow quickly moved to grab something out of her jacket, and Edie heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

"Does it really seem like I give a damn about privacy policies?" the shadow purred.

"All right! Mr. Holmes was in for, um, health issues." Edie answered quickly.

"I'm not that obtuse! Care to be a little more specific?" she asked as she pointed the gun squarely at Edie.

"A drug overdose! Mr. Holmes had heroin in his system when they brought him in." Edie cried.

"You lie!" the shadow hissed. "A mind as brilliant as that wouldn't be stupid enough to taint his abilities with that shite!"

"I promise you! I saw his paperwork at the nurse's station and he tested positive for heroin!"

Edie watched as the gun began to shake then slowly lower. "It isn't possible" she heard the shadow murmur quietly, almost too quietly for her to hear. "Oh my love, why would you do such a thing?"

Edie couldn't believe what she was hearing, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. Before she could think of something to say, the shadow continued on but her demeanor had radically changed. She was no longer calm, but frantic. The gun was quickly pointed towards her again.

"Ok, let's say I believe you. It doesn't explain why they are cuddled up together as they are. Explain that!"

Edie realized that Sherlock and John's relationship would come as a shock to this demented woman, but she couldn't help wanting to strike a nerve with her even though it probably wouldn't be a wise thing to do. Nevertheless, she couldn't fight her grin as she explained, "Oh didn't you know? Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson are now in a relationship together. The love they have for each other is clear for anyone to see. A pity for you, really. I don't know why he would want to be with John Watson when he's only a decorated war veteran and a pillar of his community, while a genteel model of femininity such as yourself sits alone on a shelf." she sneered.

The silence that followed was deafening. Little did Edie know that it was just the calm before the storm. Another moment or two passed, then the shadow moved like lightning. Before Edie could blink, it ran across the room and slammed the butt of the gun into her right temple with enough force to knock her and the chair over onto the floor. Stars exploded behind her eyes as she hit the floor and the pain made her want to vomit. She laid there limply, unable to focus on anything except the plain black shoes that stood just inches from her face. She heard heavy breathing from the figure above her. Suddenly the woman retreated and Edie heard her pace around and around in circles, muttering to herself.

"Why?! It doesn't make any sense! After all I had done for him! The bastard. John Watson doesn't know him like I do….he'll never understand him like I do! He was just there when it was convenient and took advantage of him when he was weak." Suddenly she began giggling maniacally. "That's it! He attached himself to Sherlock when he was weak in the mind! He doesn't love him, he's just using him. He can never be to him what I can be! But how can I make him see, make him understand?"

Edie listened in silence, realizing even more just how truly psychotic and obsessive this woman was. It was enough to make her worry for Sherlock and John. Who knew what she was capable of? There was no telling with someone so delusional. Finally, the throbbing in her head allowed her to speak.

"So where do I figure in all this? It's obvious that it's Sherlock that you want." she asked.

The woman presented her back to Edie as she spoke, the grin apparent in her voice. "The great Sherlock Holmes cannot resist a good mystery. I wanted to set up something intriguing to spark his interest, because I know he would come running. So predictable. Then I managed to get my hands on this photo through my own sources, and these sources also informed me that you had been overseeing his care. So I figured you were the best person to ask for an explanation. Based on what you've just told me, it looks like I'll have to modify my original plans. Yes, it is Sherlock that I want to get my hands on. But this John Watson is going to get in my way and be a problem. I'll just have to get rid of him."

Edie gasped. "He hasn't done anything to you! Why would you want to hurt him?"

"On the contrary, he took the one thing away from me that I ever truly wanted: Sherlock's affection. If he can use Sherlock's weakness to weasel his way in, there's no reason I can't do the same thing." The woman opened her arms wide and spun around in the shadows like a little girl. "Oh it's going to be glorious! I can see it all now! Once they realize that you are missing, Sherlock will begin searching for you with Watson tagging behind as usual. I'll just have to make sure an "accident" befalls him before they reach you. I'll watch the entire scene from afar, and when the time is right, I'll jump right in to console him at the lost of his so-called "love". I'll be the picture of compassion and he won't stand a chance. He'll fall in love with me just as easily as he did with that damn Army Doctor. Then together, we'll solve the mystery of just what happened to you. He'll realize that I'm a better match for him. It'll just be a shame that we will find you too late to save you. You don't mind sacrificing yourself for true love, do you dear?"

Once Edie's addled mind was able to process this woman's elaborate plan, she was in shock when she realized it would ultimately end in her death. She instantly became furious. "Mind?! Of course I mind! You're mad!" she yelled. "Why would you do such a horrible thing?"

The woman's voice dropped in tone enough to change into something almost unrecognizable as human. "Ever heard the phrase 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'? Sherlock is about to find out just what it feels like to have hellfire licking at his heels. So sit tight dearie. You're not going anywhere any time soon. But don't worry. I'll send someone to you soon to see to your needs." She giggled again. "We can't have anything happen to the 'bait' can we?"

And with that, she melted back into the shadows in the corner. Edie heard the click of a door she couldn't see close behind the woman as she exited the room.

Edie just lay there and wept.


	13. Hudders and Happiness

Dr. Hawthorne had been satisfied enough with Sherlock's last test results to go ahead and discharge him. Sherlock was still occupied with the package left behind by Ms. Edie so it fell to John to listen to any aftercare instructions. It was all information he was well aware of anyway, but he listened respectfully. After thanking Dr. Hawthorne with a handshake, they made their way downstairs with Sherlock complaining about being forced to use a wheelchair. John just smiled as he explained that it was policy, but it only managed to reduce Sherlock's complaining to a mild grumble.

A cab was already waiting for them, and the driver helped store their bags in the boot while John helped Sherlock get inside. They settled in close together with Sherlock leaning his head on John's shoulder with a light sigh.

"Glad to be going home?" John asked quietly.

"Yes. I can't wait to use my equipment to get a closer look at that package." Sherlock replied.

John feigned a pout. "And here I thought it had something to do with me…" the grin apparent in his voice. Sherlock just sat up and looked at him.

"John, if it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be able to do anything at all. Everything I do from now on will either be because of you….or for you. My work was the most important thing in my life, but you made it possible for me to continue. Therefore, it stands to reason that you have now become the most important thing in my life. It's simple mathematics John!" he explained.

"I know Sherlock….learn to take a joke, will ya?" He grabbed Sherlock's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Besides, I'm just as anxious as you are to find out what happened to the poor woman. Any theories yet?"

"Not yet. But I can't help but feel guilty. Harm came to her while she was doing me a kindness."

"You never did tell me what was in the package anyway."

"I didn't, did I?" Sherlock said with a smirk. He reached into the light jacket that John had packed for him and pulled the package out. He handed it to John, causing the dog tags that still hung around Sherlock's neck to gleam in the light and seeing them made John smile. "Just please be careful when you open it. I don't want it damaged more than necessary before I can examine it properly."

"Well in that case, I suppose I can wait a little while longer until we can get home." He placed the package carefully on the seat between them. "Wouldn't want to hurt any evidence, would I?"

The rest of the ride passed quietly. John assumed that Sherlock's silence meant that he was mulling over the mystery and he was content just being near him. Besides, he knew once they got home, Sherlock would probably spend his time doing his research on what clues he had to go on.

They pulled up in front of 221B. John grabbed the package and paid the cabbie as Sherlock got out and walked around to pull their belongings out of the boot. As the cab drove off, the door opened wide and they were both greeted enthusiastically by Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh it's so good to have my boys back home!" she exclaimed, wrapping them both in a generous hug. "Now, you go upstairs and get settled in, and I'll be right up with some food. I know the dreadful meals you two probably had to endure while in hospital, so a home-cooked meal will be just the thing. Go on now!" She shooed them upstairs.

John stuck the package into his jacket pocket and took over carrying the bags because he didn't want Sherlock to overexert himself. He slowly followed Sherlock up the stairs, allowing him to take however much time he needed. Once inside, he saw Sherlock immediately sit down at his desk and log into his laptop. Shaking his head, he headed into Sherlock's bedroom and began to unpack the bag, putting most of the contents into the hamper. '_Some things will never change'_ he thought to himself. Once finished, he headed back into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. Moments later, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and knew Mrs. Hudson was on her way up with the promised meal. He met her at the door and helped her with the heavy platter, setting it down on the kitchen table. He thanked her with a peck on the cheek and insisted on her eating with them. She graciously accepted, and together they began to set out plates and cutlery for three. By the time they were finished, the kettle began to whistle and John handed Mrs. Hudson a cup before grabbing one for Sherlock and himself. Once everything was finished, they were ready to sit and enjoy the fruits of Mrs. Hudson's labors.

"Sherlock? Come on, dear! Come grab a bite!" Mrs. Hudson called. Sherlock didn't even look up, just gave her an off-handed '_hmmmm'_ in response. She shook her head and looked at John. "What's he working on already? He's just got back! He couldn't have a case so soon, can he?"

"Actually, we sort of just had one fall in our lap. The aide who was looking after Sherlock seems to have….disappeared." John answered.

"Oh the poor dear! I hope she's alright. Sherlock will get to the bottom of it, I'm sure." She said. "I wonder if that's what he wanted to celebrate then. Honestly, it isn't proper for him to get so excited over someone else's misfortune, but to each their own I suppose."

"I'm sorry, what?" John asked. "Celebrate? What are you talking about?"

"I went to visit him the other day and he was happier than I've ever seen him, but he wouldn't explain why. But he said that he had reason to celebrate when he returned home, so I'm just assuming he meant it was because he had a case."

John sat there for a moment and felt his face flush. He decided to try and hide it by getting up and walking over to Sherlock in the sitting room. He knew they were going to tell Mrs. Hudson about their new relationship, but he was surprised that Sherlock had waited. Standing behind Sherlock, he glanced at the screen to see what he was working on. Apparently he had tapped into Mycroft's database and was getting background information on . It seemed like a good place to start as any, but it could wait until he had a proper meal in him.

"Sherlock?" he asked. Getting no response, he reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock turned and looked at him, seemingly surprised to see him standing there.

"Yes John?"

"Mrs. Hudson has brought the food. Come and eat."

"But John…." He protested.

"It will only take a few minutes. Besides, you wouldn't want to disappoint her."

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose you're right." He got up and followed John back into the kitchen and sat in front of a plate piled high with food. He arched an eyebrow at John.

"Just eat what you can Sherlock. You're going to want your strength back to work on the case." John said quietly. Sherlock picked up a fork and obediently took a bite.

"Alright Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson began. "Tell me a little about this case that has you so happy." Sherlock stopped mid-chew and looked at John, who just smiled in return. Setting his fork down, he wiped his mouth on a linen. He sat back in his chair and cleared his throat.

"Simply put, the aide who was taking care of me while I was in hospital had taken missing. She was doing a favor for me, and hasn't been seen since."

"What sort of favor Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"That's what I would like to know!" John added.

Sherlock flushed slightly, as if embarrassed. "It was something for John."

"Me?" John squeaked. He pulled the package out and held it up. "You mean to say that this is for me?"

"Yes John. It was Ms. Edie's idea actually, but I thought you would like it."

Mrs. Hudson just looked back and forth between John and Sherlock. "Ok, now I'm confused."

Sherlock reached up and gently grabbed the tags still hanging around his neck. "John had generously given me something that I never expected to possess so I felt it necessary to return the favor." Still clearly confused, Mrs. Hudson just shook her head.

"He gave you a necklace? Um, well that's sweet Sherlock, but friends give each other gifts all the time. Although it's not something one bloke would usually give another, if it makes you happy, then that's all that matters." She said.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "It's more than a necklace Hudders! It means much more than that." He turned to John. "Just open it John. Maybe that will help clear up any confusion the poor woman is having."

Mrs. Hudson turned her attention to John as he began to carefully unseal the flap along the top, making sure not to tear anything. Once it was opened, he pulled out the bubble wrapping inside and handed the envelope back to Sherlock, knowing his plans to go over it with a fine-toothed comb the first chance he got. He undone the small piece of tape holding the wrap together, then began to unwind if from around a flat wooden object. A picture frame. Mrs. Hudson got up and stood behind John so she could get a better look. Taped to the glass on the front of the frame was a small handwritten note in neat script handwriting:

Make each day count. – Ms. Edie

John and Mrs. Hudson glanced at each other in confusion as Sherlock just watched with a small smile. John removed the note and finally saw the photo nestled inside. He just stared for a moment while Mrs. Hudson let out a gasp.

"But that's you…and John….you mean….the two of you….are…?" she asked, waiting for someone to confirm what she was thinking.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson. John gave me more than just a 'necklace', and more than just his friendship." He reached over and grasped John's hand, who was still too stunned to speak. "He's given me his love, which I am all too happy to return."

Feeling Sherlock's hand around his own brought John out of his shock. He looked at Sherlock and asked "When did you do take this?"

"Obviously while you were still sleeping." Sherlock answered. "After giving me your dog tags, I felt it was only right to try and return the gesture." He looked uncertain for a moment, as if he was unsure of himself. "I hope it's acceptable. It's the best I could do, given the circumstances." He said quietly.

John broke out into a wide grin. He squeezed Sherlock's hand tighter as he got up and leaned over towards him. As he kissed Sherlock, he felt Sherlock's lips match his smile with one of his own.

"It's perfect Sherlock. I love it." He looked squarely into Sherlock eyes as he added solemnly, "And I love you."

"I love you too John." Sherlock answered. Their moment was interrupted by a squeal from Mrs. Hudson, who they had momentarily forgotten was still in the room.

"Ohhhh, this is wonderful! I knew it! I just knew it!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. She quickly ran around the table and hugged them both in turn. "I'm so happy for the both of you!"

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." John said. "So you knew all along, did you?

"Well I didn't want to say anything, but I had a feeling. Honestly John, were you really so blind? It was obvious to anyone who looked close enough." She laughed. "But you were right Sherlock. This definitely is cause for celebration! I think I have some bubbly chilled downstairs…I'll be right back!" Clapping her hands again, she made her way to her flat.

Sherlock just sat back and grinned. "Well I guess we certainly have her support." He laughed. John just shook his head.

"And you just know that she's on the phone right now calling Mrs. Turner next door. As much as Mrs. Turner is always bragging about her 'married ones', you know Mrs. Hudson can't wait to brag on us as well." He remarked. Sherlock just groaned.

"Oh let her Sherlock. It's not like we're going to hide it from anyone anyway."John said. Sherlock just resumed his eating.

"I didn't expect us to be subject of such interest" he remarked.

"What harm could it do? Besides, everyone will probably be just as surprised as I was. No one expects Sherlock Holmes to have a heart, much less to have given it to someone."

"Well I guess I showed them." Sherlock joked.

They heard Mrs. Hudson's footsteps, signaling her return upstairs. She swept in holding a bottle in one hand, and three glasses in the other. She quickly popped the top and filled each glass halfway, then handed one to each of them. They followed her lead as she held her glass up.

"I guess this Mrs. Edie said it better than I could. Here's to making each day count!" she said. Her boys nodded toward her in agreement as they all took a sip. Sherlock leaned over and kissed John once again, tasting the crispness of the champagne on his lips.

Mrs. Hudson just wiped a tear from her eye as she smiled.


	14. A First Time for Everything

A/N: **I got a little stuck when writing this chapter so I used a little from ASiP. Don't worry, it won't be the same story but I used a bit as a bridge to keep going. I hope you enjoy!**

After another hour or so of visiting with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock was ready to send her back to her flat. He had affection for the woman, but he decided that enough was enough. He made a show of standing up with a yawn.

"As much as I've enjoyed this visit and appreciate the meal Mrs. Hudson, I'm afraid that it's getting rather late. If you don't mind, I'd like to clean up and rest a bit." he said.

"Oh! Of course dear. I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time. Of course you should rest." she replied. After getting up she gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek, then walked over to John. She gave him a warm hug, and before she let him go she murmured quietly in his ear, "Take care of him John. He needs someone like you to watch over him."

"I will, and not just because he's stubborn and needs it. I need him just as much." John replied just as quietly. Mrs. Hudson patted his cheek with a smile, then turned and left. Once she was gone, John turned around and watched Sherlock flop down on the sofa, his long limbs splayed in every direction.

"Good God, how can one old woman talk so much absolute nonsense!" he exclaimed. John just laughed.

"You know she means well, Sherlock." He said. He walked over to where Sherlock was laying and waited for him to move his legs so that he could sit. After a moment, Sherlock sat up and moved to the side to make room for John. After John sat and made himself comfortable, he swung his legs over to drape them across John's lap.

"Comfy?" John asked.

"For now. I'm just going over in my head what I learned about Mrs. Edie so far."

"So what have we got?"

Sherlock began reeling off facts, sounding eerily like an encyclopedia. "She was born and raised in Wicklow, Ireland which isn't too far from Dublin. She went to Dublin for University where she studied nursing. It was there she met her husband of 35 years, a fellow named Andrew. They had one child, a daughter named Brianna. After her husband passed a few years ago she dedicated her time between her work and her daughter's family. She moved to London about 5 years ago because the pay was better, and set up in a small flat on the north side. Never had any run-ins with the legal system. For all accounts and purposes, she's led a quiet and model life. I cannot find any reason why anyone would want to harm her."

"Could it just be a coincidence then? A bit of bad luck?"

"You know I don't believe in "coincidence" John. There has to be a reason." Sherlock just leaned his head back and sighed in frustration. "I just need ONE clue, something to tell me which way to go, where to look!"

"I'm sure you'll find something, you always do." John reassured him. "But it has been a long day and you're probably just too tired to think straight. Why don't you get washed up and get ready for bed?"

Sherlock sat up and looked at him. "You're coming too, right?"

"I'm going to straighten up the kitchen a bit, then have a wash myself. But yeah, I'll be there. Where else would I be?"

Sherlock sat up and wrapped his arms around John. "Good, because I fully intend to finish what we started earlier. And you know how impatient I can get." He murmured. John just smiled.

"Yes I know, but the sooner you let me up, the sooner I can finish what I have to do, and the sooner I can join you." He chuckled. Sherlock shot up like a spring and bolted towards the bathroom. "Hurry up John! Don't dawdle!" he called over his shoulder as he tried to close the bathroom door behind him. Well, what was left of it. They still had to see about getting it replaced after John barged through it a few days ago. John just shook his head at his enthusiasm and made his way back to the kitchen. He's always known that Sherlock didn't do anything in half-measures, but seeing him so anxious to please regarding their relationship…..that will take some getting used to. But he was definitely looking forward to it.

As he worked, he decided that he would just put the remaining food away and let the dishes soak until the morning. It wasn't like he was going into work tomorrow so he would have plenty of time to worry about them then. Besides, he had heard the shower running and didn't want to take any of the hot water that Sherlock was using. He began stacking the dishes neatly in the sink and caught himself humming, feeling decidedly domestic. He's done this hundreds of times before, but why was it different now? The answer came easily to him. It was Sherlock. He no longer felt like he was cleaning up after an aloof flatmate, but was taking care of his partner. He smiled again, enjoying the bliss that washed over him. However, his musings were interrupted by a shout from Sherlock and a loud crash.

"JOHN!"

Afraid that something serious had happened, he dropped the remaining dishes in the sink, ignoring the sound of them shattering as he turned and ran towards the bathroom. His shoes slid from under him and he almost crashed to the floor as he tried to turn the corner of the hallway so quickly. Catching himself at the last minute, he straightened up and ran the rest of the way.

"Sherlock! Are you alright?" he shouted as he ran. Just as he was about to reach the bathroom, the door swung inwards and out walked Sherlock, water and soap still dripping through his hair giving him the appearance of a wet mop and the shower curtain tangled around him like a stiff toga. John just stared in disbelief.

"What are you doing?! Are you alright? What happened? What's the matter?" John asked quickly, fearing the worst.

"The mobile John!" Sherlock shouted.

"Wait, what? The mobile? What mobile?" John asked, still clearly confused.

"Edie's mobile! She took the photos with her mobile!" Sherlock explained. Seeing that John still hadn't a clue what he was talking about he continued. "She had a Smartphone, so it probably has a GPS locater. I can use it to trace its location and it may give us a place to start looking for her!" On a roll, he swept past John towards his laptop once again, dripping water and soap along the way. Just as he was logging in again, John finally realized that Sherlock wasn't in any danger but he was just being Sherlock. He slowly walked towards the sitting room, his disbelief rising with each step.

"THAT'S why you were shouting for me?! Christ, Sherlock! You almost gave me a bloody heart attack, thinking you had a relapse or something! Not to mention I almost broke my neck trying to get to you!" He shouted. "Not to mention that you've managed to drag water all over the flat!" Sherlock continued tapping away, totally engrossed in what he was doing. John stopped by the sofa and took a few calming breaths. He knew that if he got any closer to Sherlock at the moment, he just might strangle him.

"Sherlock?" he called again. Sherlock responded this time, swinging his head up to look at him. John simply pointed to the mess on the floor that Sherlock left in his wake. "I hope you have plans for cleaning that up, because I'm certainly not going to!" he said.

Seeing the water and soap, Sherlock at least had the decency to look sheepish. "I'm sorry John. But it came to me suddenly and I just had to get in here and…."

"And let me guess…" John interrupted. "You decided that using a towel was too mainstream for you, so you grabbed the shower curtain instead!"

"Honestly, I was trying to get out and I got tangled in it, so I decided to bring it along with me. You seemed upset last time I was walking around….how did you put it…'naked as a jaybird'….so I used this as a temporary cover." As soon as he finished speaking, an errant curl that was heavy with soap chose that moment to fall squarely in the middle of Sherlock's face. Sherlock tried to brush it back but only managed to make things worse as drops of water flung everywhere and more and more curls fell in his eyes.

John watched Sherlock having a hard time and couldn't help doubling over with laughter. He sat on the arm of the couch at first, but soon was laughing so hard that he ended up sliding down onto the floor. Once Sherlock wrangled his hair out of his eyes where he could see clearly, he looked at John on the floor and couldn't help giggling with him. He stood up and tried walking over to John but managed to trip himself on the plastic curtain still slippery with soap and he hit the floor with a muffled _OOF_! John just pointed to Sherlock on the floor and laughed even harder.

"You should see yourself! You look like a drowned rat wrapped in a burrito!" he managed to get out between laughing. Sherlock just lay there and laughed right along with him. John knew that he had to get Sherlock up so he could finish getting rinsed off and start cleaning the mess. He reached to the side of him to use the arm of the couch to help himself up, but as he did he heard Sherlock laugh harder. He turned and saw Sherlock pointing back at him.

"Looks like you sat in some water John and it's made a perfect smiley face on your bum!" he barely managed to get out. John looked at the mirror across the room above the fireplace and saw that Sherlock was right. He dissolved into fits of laughter again. He walked over to Sherlock and offered him a hand to help him up. Just as Sherlock grasped his hand and went to pull himself up, John slipped on a puddle of soap and crashed next to him on the floor. They were laughing so hard that they couldn't do anything but lay there until they could catch their breath.

After about 10 minutes they managed to calm themselves down. John simply looked at Sherlock and grinned. Sherlock smiled right back at him. After a moment, their smiles turned into something completely different. Sherlock reached for John's hand.

"Your hands are trembling." Sherlock remarked.

"So are yours."

Sherlock's smile was appealingly crooked. "Does that mean I need to call Mrs. Hudson to help carry us both to bed?" he joked.

John shook his head. "We'll help each other." He ran his hands through his hair. "Damn, I didn't think I would be this nervous though."

"Then you want to wait-"

Immediately John sat up. "Let's not be so hasty." He said quickly.

"Would it help if you ordered me about again…._Captain_?" Sherlock asked slyly. John just blushed.

"It couldn't hurt." He replied.

"Alright, what would you have me do?" Sherlock asked.

"First off, take off that damn curtain!" John giggled. Sherlock sat up and immediately obliged him. John moved and sat near him, facing his side. He dragged his fingers through Sherlock's damp hair and watched him close his eyes and smile at the pleasure. As he watched him, he marveled at how changed they both were. Of course Sherlock was still as gruff and demanding as ever. But now when they were alone, his hard edges softened. He teased him, laughed with him. John teased him back about his haughty reputation, now knowing that it hid a most tenderhearted and loving man.

"What are you thinking?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing much." John replied.

"You're thinking of me, I can tell."

"Actually I was just thinking about how the Sherlock that I know is so different from what everyone else sees. They see you as some fearsome dragon that snarls and snaps at everyone for being idiots, but I see so much more."

Sherlock snorted. "A dragon am I?" he asked. "If that's the case, does that make you a Knight in Shining Armor? After all, you did save me in more ways than I can count."

"I was being your friend Sherlock." John said quietly. "I never expected any of this to happen."

"Neither did I." Sherlock said. Not used to voicing too much sentiment at once, he decided to tease John a little longer. He stood up and did his best impression on a noble lord as he made a show of bowing before John. "Ah, but there is only one dragon for you, milord, and you have caught him firmly about the neck. Perhaps you should find a task for him besides catching a chill. Rumor has it he's a powerfully fine snogger!"

John stood up next to him and giggled, deciding to play along. "I never trust rumor where my dragon is concerned. I fear I'll need to be convinced."

Sherlock obliged him. They started out slowly, until the need inside them built until the point of no return. Taking his hand, John led Sherlock towards the bedroom they now shared. Once there, John was prepared to have Sherlock help him out of his clothes. He even managed to help a little, even though his hands were shaking. John didn't know why he was still so nervous. He'd been with women often enough. How different could it be with a man? Yes, he felt that he was fully prepared for what was about to follow. They certainly had snogged often enough over the last few days.

When they finally lay down, they wrapped their arms around each other. Sherlock allowed John the time he needed to get used to each step in the process, never rushing him but allowing him to set the pace. John, however, caught on quickly and soon was matching Sherlock with the same urgency. Sherlock was surprised to find out that John was a generous lover. John gave and gave and Sherlock made sure that he returned all that was given him. His heart, his soul, his love.

The night passed with them locked around each other, the only sounds in the bedroom were sighs punctuated with words of love. They were so occupied with each other that neither one of them heard the laptop pinging in the sitting room, signaling it had found the location of Mrs. Edie's mobile.

The address at the bottom of the screen blinked repeatedly.

It was on Baker Street.


	15. Some Things Never Change

John woke up the next morning slightly sore and very content. He hadn't even opened his eyes yet and he already felt himself smiling. It had been well into the middle of the night before he could breathe again. He had laid with his head on Sherlock's shoulder and his arms thrown around his waist. It had been a long evening, full of things that he'd never for the life of him had expected.

And not that the last of it had been uncomfortable. He considered holding his tongue, partly because he didn't want to hurt Sherlock's feelings. It was also because he was still amazed that this had managed to happen between them. Sherlock was well known all over London, and probably much farther. He certainly had his share of fans and groupies. He could easily have his pick out of any one of them. John felt humbled by the fact it had been his name that Sherlock whispered as he made him his.

As they lay there, Sherlock had used a rough callused finger to trace his cheek, but abruptly stopped when he felt dampness.

"John? Are you ok" he asked.

"Yeah I'm alright." He answered. "It didn't hurt as bad as I had thought." Sherlock immediately sat up and looked at him.

"I told you to tell me if I hurt you! I'm sorry John."

"It's not that big of a deal Sherlock."

"Then why are you crying?"

"Because I love you."

"Then you have given me more than just the gift of your love John, because no one has ever wept for the love of me. But you're not going to evade my question so easily. Didn't I ask you if I was hurting you?"

"Yes, and I answered as I saw fit."

Sherlock just chuckled. "Cheeky little git." He gave John a kiss on the forehead. "I promise next time will be better."

"If you say so."

"You don't believe me?"

"It doesn't matter."

"_Doesn't matter_? Jesus, John! How can you say that?"

"I love you Sherlock. If you're happy, then I'm happy. If you're pleased, then I am content."

"But I wanted it to please _you_ too!"

John just blinked. "But it did!"

"All but the last…" Sherlock grumbled.

"Even that wasn't completely unpleasant." John smirked.

Sherlock laughed. "You've no care at all for my ego, have you?"

"What would you have me say? That I trembled so violently from an orgasm that I thought I would fall off the bed?" John giggled.

"That would do for a start!"

John simply squeezed Sherlock a little tighter. "You're impossible."

Sherlock rolled onto his back. "Impossible, am I? Don't act like that's something new John." He smiled some more. "But just for that, next time I'll let you do all the work and I'll tell _you_ that I found it merely endurable. We'll see how grumpy you'll be then."

John couldn't do anything but kiss him after that. Who would've thought that a genius such as this would want or need assurance from someone so common like himself? If that's what he wanted, he would spend the rest of his life giving it to him.

Coming back to the present, he rolled over and reached for Sherlock but found only empty bed. The sheets were already cold so John knew he had been up for some time. Shaking his head, he went ahead and got up as well. He swiped a housecoat that was tossed over a chair and drew it around himself. Knowing Sherlock, he has probably tapping away on his laptop.

He walked into the sitting room and was surprised to find it empty. Even the laptop was closed. He turned to look in the kitchen but it was empty as well. "Sherlock?" he called out, even though he knew he wouldn't get any response. _Where the hell could he be?_ John asked himself. He decided to try and text him. It took him almost 20 minutes to find his mobile but he did eventually.

Where are you? – JW

He sat the phone on the kitchen table and decided to start on the rest of the dishes from last night, the ones that hadn't shattered anyway. He also thought about the soapy mess that didn't get cleaned up before they went to bed, and as he looked he could make out the dried residue from the soap all over the floor. He sighed. His work was definitely cut out for him today.

He drained the water in the sink from last night and had begun running fresh water when he heard his mobile ping. He picked it up, hoping it would be Sherlock. Instead it was Molly.

I can't get in touch with Sherlock. Is he there with you? – MH

No. I can't seem to find him either. Have you talked to him today? – JW

He came in early this morning just as I was getting to my lab and brought me something to run a few tests on. He wanted me to let him know as soon as I was finished but he's making that hard to do. But I'm glad to see that he seems to be back to himself again. – MH

He's still far from recovered and shouldn't be out running around just yet, but I guess I can't stop him. – JW

Sooner stop a fright train! If you see him, will you tell him his results are ready? – MH

Will do. Thanks Molly. – JW

Not a problem. – MH

John shook his head and he was starting to worry. He decided to try and call him. He dialed Sherlock's number and let it ring. Eventually the voicemail connected and he left a poignant message. "Sherlock! I don't know where you are, but you need to get your ass back home! If you wanted to run off somewhere you could have at least woken me up and let me come along. Let me know that you're ok." He hung up, and then went back into the kitchen to start his cleaning. Otherwise he knew he would be driving himself crazy with worry. Picking up a plate and a soapy sponge, he began washing….and waiting.

…...

Sherlock had barged into Scotland Yard like he owned the place. Heads turned as he walked towards to Lestrade's office but no one stopped him. Without knocking, he walked right in.

"Lestrade! We have a case!" he announced. Lestrade just looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"Sherlock? What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were still in hospital!" he exclaimed.

"Discharged yesterday. Do keep up!"

Lestrade shook his head. "Keeping up with you is damn near impossible! I do have a day job, you know."

"Yes, and it's a job that that I have to do for you most of the time, which should leave you considerable time to help me with a case I'm working on."

Lestrade just sighed and decided to let the insult pass. Besides, Sherlock was right. "Alright Sherlock. What have we got?" Sherlock began to outline the details of Edie's disappearance, keeping the more personal details to himself for the time being. Since they weren't relevant to the case, he didn't see the need to divulge the information. Lestrade just sat back and listened, asking a few questions along the way.

"So you're saying that her mobile was traced back to Baker Street? It didn't give a more exact location?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no. I need a team to start searching all the buildings. And if it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you mind sending whatever officers you have that don't mind using their brains? I would like to find the poor woman before I die of old age." Sherlock intoned.

"Now I resent that!" Lestrade exclaimed. "All of my officers are highly trained are committed to doing their job well!"

"Oh really?" Sherlock replied, arching an eyebrow. "Why don't you ask Anderson and Donovan why they volunteer to stay late so often. Better yet, why not take a closer look at the two sets of handprints on the mirror in the men's room? I'm sure it wouldn't be too much a surprise to find out that one of those sets of prints belongs to a certain bitchy female on your force."

"How could you possibly…..you know what? Never mind." Lestrade said. "I'll get a team together and have them out there as soon as I can."

"Thank you."

Sherlock exited Lestrade's office and walked towards the main entrance. He was just reaching the door when Sally stopped him.

"What are you doing here freak?" she sneered. "Have you come to finally confess to a crime that you've committed for attention?"

"Nice to see you too Sally." Sherlock answered offhandedly. Then he simply stepped around her and continued on his way. He didn't have time to get into a verbal sparring match with her right now. Besides, in a battle of wits, he knew that Sally would always come unarmed.

As he stepped into the sunshine he pulled his mobile out of his pocket. He had it set to silent so he wouldn't be distracted. He saw that he had a few missed calls and texts from both Molly and John. He sent Molly a quick message letting her know that he was on his way to come look at the results of the test he had her run on the envelope. When that was finished, he sent another text to John.

I'm sorry I didn't respond earlier. Talked Lestrade into helping us. Heading back to Molly's to get some test results. – SH

John answered almost immediately.

Next time you decide to just go off on your own, would you mind letting me know first? You know you're supposed to be taking it easy right now. – JW

I know, but I couldn't just stay idle. Not when I have a case to work on! – SH

Yeah I know. So what should I do? Do you need my help with anything? – JW

Lestrade and his team will be on Baker Street soon to start a search. When you see them in the area, go ahead and help them. I'll join you as soon as I leave Molly's. – SH

Alright. See you soon Sherlock, and don't overdo yourself! – JW

Yes Doctor. ;) – SH

Did you just 'winky face" me? – JW

Problem? – SH

Not at all. I think it's adorable, although it's not something I would come to expect from you. – JW

You bring out the best in me John. – SH

Same here. – JW

Sherlock returned his mobile to the pocket of his belstaff coat and hailed a cab. One pulled over almost instantly and he climbed inside. "St. Bart's please." The cabbie nodded and pulled away from the curb and back into traffic. Sherlock sat back and hoped the results would give him the extra clues he needed.

He wasn't sure why, but he instinctively knew that time was running out.


	16. The Trap is Set!

Edie looked around the room and sighed. She had been grateful for the small amount of freedom she had been given, courtesy of the shackle fastened on the floor and the lightweight chain secure around her ankle. She had been surprised that her captor had decided to be so generous, but she wasn't one to ask why. She had tried walking small laps around the cramped room so that her muscles wouldn't end up too stiff, but quit after only a few. The knot on her head from being hit with the gun still caused her vision to swim on occasion and she didn't want to chance taking a fall. He body already felt bruised beyond repair. Why add to it?

During her laps she noticed that the woman had been very careful in her generosity. The chain was long enough to allow her to reach either of the chairs she chose to sit in, but it stopped her short from getting near any of the doors or getting too close to the windows. Reaching out, she had just managed to use the very tips of her fingers to slightly move the window coverings, allowing the slightest sliver of light into her gloomy prison. It also allowed her enough of a glimpse outside to know that she was on a semi-busy street, and was at least on the 2nd or 3rd floor of the building she was in. She tried listening to the sounds coming from outside to see if anything sounded familiar, but it was no use. She was too high up to hear anything clearly. She walked back to one of the chairs situated in front of the fireplace and sat down gingerly, still too sore to just flop down like she wanted to. She had tried sleeping but couldn't get comfortable in any of the chairs no matter how hard she had tried. She was so exhausted that she thought she might be going mad.

She passed the time by humming to herself, the same quiet lullaby she used to sing to her daughter when she was a child. Thoughts of her daughter swirled in her mind, and she was worried still that this psycho woman had managed to harm Brianna or her family. But she knew it was useless worrying too much because there was nothing she could do. It would only drive her crazy. So she was determined to remain focused on happy memories.

She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and knew it must be time for her daily meal, however meager it would be this time. Last time, it was only a dry sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. She had wanted to wolf it down to ease the hunger in her stomach but knew that the stomach cramps she would get afterwards would serve her no purpose, so she had forced herself to nibble a little at a time and made the water last as long as possible.

She got up and stood facing the door her visitor would no doubt enter, waiting to see if it would be the woman or another lackey of hers. Her last visitor was a hulking brute who looked like he could kill her with his bare hands so she had made no attempt to question him or escape. This time when the door opened, she was surprised to see the woman once more.

"How are we feeling today, dearie?" she asked, that lilting Irish accent grating on her already raw nerves.

Edie just glared at her. "As if you really gave a shite how I feel!" she replied.

As the woman entered farther into the room, she noticed that she had a large black bag slung over her shoulders, which she had sat down in the middle of the room. Edie eyed it suspiciously. The woman saw where Edie's attention was focused and chuckled.

"No need to be alarmed dear. There is nothing in there that is meant to harm you. But I do have a bit of good news for you. Would you like to hear it?"

"Why are you asking me if I want to hear it?"

"DO YOU WANT TO HEAR IT?!" the woman screamed. Edie jumped back, shocked at the volume and tone of the woman's voice. Apparently she was already on edge and Edie didn't want to do anything to set her off so she just nodded meekly.

"There's a good lass. The good news is that your ordeal here is almost over. You see, as I was walking up the street to come and visit you, I noticed that half of Scotland Yard had began congregating in the area. How they managed to know where to begin looking for you, I have no idea. But I'm sure Sherlock Holmes had something to do with it." Her face took on an almost blissful smile that Edie found terrifying. "He always was such a clever man. I guess that's what I get for underestimating him. Anyway, I've almost run out of time. I believe I have a trap to set up for dear Doctor Watson." She nodded towards the bag at her feet and grinned. "Too bad you won't last long enough to appreciate the genius I put into it."

"You won't get away with this!" Edie cried.

"Here's the beauty of it all Mrs. Edie…..I already have!" she replied. She reached down and grabbed the bag once again. Turning her back she headed out the way she came, stopping momentarily as she reached the door. "It really is a shame though, that I didn't have more time with you. We could've had so much fun together." Giggling, she was out the door and was gone.

Edie sank to her knees and began to pray, not just for herself but also for the 2 nice men she had met on that fateful day.

….

The mysterious woman closed the door behind her and walked down the dusty hallway. Her plan was finally coming to fruition and she couldn't be more excited. Although she wished she could, she couldn't take the credit for any of it. She had been coached on what to do by a man she had never met, a man who only went by "M". She still didn't know how he knew her, or how he managed to get in touch with her. She had been lamenting to herself alone in her flat a few days ago when she received a random text message from a blocked number.

_Poor child. Sitting alone when you could have the one your heart desires. I can help you become everything you dreamed you could be, and he would be drawn to you like a moth to a flame. If you are willing to follow my instructions explicitly, reply in the affirmative and I shall help you set the plan in motion. However if you falter or fail, it will all be turned on you and you will know sorrow that you cannot possible imagine. Think quickly, my dear, for I am not a patient man. – M_

She had read the message several times, not sure what to make of it. It sounded like a prank to her. She looked up and saw all the newspaper clippings that were scattered everywhere in her flat: every headline, every photo that featured Sherlock Holmes. Her obsession with him had completely taken over all of her free time. Prank or not, even the slightest possibility of getting her hands on him was too good to pass up. What did she have to lose? She quickly replied with a single word.

Yes.

_Very good. I almost didn't think you would have what it takes. Instructions to follow. I will be watching you. Do not disappoint me. – M_

Within seconds, her doorbell rang. She slowly walked to the door and looked through the peephole but she saw no one. Hesitantly, she opened the door and looked around. The corridor was empty, except for a box sitting near her threshold. She quickly grabbed and took it inside, closing the door behind her with a quick kick of her foot. Setting it down on the table, she opened it and stared wide-eyed at the contents: a few photos, a handgun, a small bottle marked Succhinylcholine, a small wad of explosives with a remote detonator and a folder with instructions. Intrigued, she sat down immediately and began reading. An hour later, she sat amongst the papers she had read and reread with a dazed look on her face. Whoever "M" was, his mind was diabolical.

She had loved it.

Back in the present, she reached into her pocket and grabbed her mobile. She made a quick call to the man she had hired to help her.

"It's time. Get here quickly! Just stick to the plan as I told you."

"Yes ma'am." Came the gruff voice from the other side.

Disconnecting the call, she waited. She checked her watch, becoming more impatient by the minute. If this goon didn't hurry up, all would be lost and she would have to deal with "M". If that happened, she would make sure this idiot would go down with her.

After another minute or two, she heard the thundering footsteps belonging to the freakishly large man. He turned the corner and stopped a few feet in front of her, winded and trying to catch his breath.

"Oi! You had to do this all the way on the top floor, didn't you?" he complained.

"Oh shut up! I'm paying you well enough. When this is all over you can retire somewhere when you can sit around long enough to grow roots for all I care!" she snapped. The hulk glared at her but wisely held his tongue. He had learned that she was dicked in the nob when it came to this Holmes fellow, but the money was enough do what he was told.

"Alright what do you want me to do?" he asked.

"I want you to stand by the door where Edie is being kept and guard it. Scotland Yard is canvassing the neighborhood and I have no doubt that John Watson will be among them. Do you have your gun with you?" His only answer was pulling it out from the back of his waistband and cocking it loudly.

"Excellent! Now, I will go outside and find Watson by himself. I'll tell him that I live in the flat below where we are keeping Edie and I heard a noise that sounded like someone was hurt. He won't be able to resist rushing to the rescue, poor sod."

"And you want me to blast him when he comes up the stairs?" the brute asked, almost sounding eager.

"Of course not! Don't be stupid! I want you to shoot AT him, but I want you to miss."

"MISS? Why the hell do you want me to miss?!" he asked.

"Because I'm giving him this!" she said triumphantly, pulling out the handgun that was provided to her in the mysterious box a few days ago. "And I want him to use it."

"So you're just going to let him shoot me? Are you out of your bleedin' skull?" he yelled.

"Just shut up and listen, you idiot! This isn't an ordinary handgun. Let me show you." She replied. She held the gun up towards him, careful to only hold it by the barrel and not the hand piece. Using her other hand she pulled the trigger. The hulk flinched, expecting the loud noise that usually accompanies a gun being shot. Instead, there was only a loud click as quarter inch spikes shot out of the butt of the gun. His eyes bugged out, not sure he was really seeing what he was seeing. The woman just grinned. "What you see here is engineering genius. These tiny spikes, 45 of them to be exact, are hollow and work the same way as a syringe." She reached into her bag once more and took out the bottle. "And this….will be what ends him, once and for all."

The man just blinked. "What is it?" he asked.

"It's called Succhinylcholine. Such a long name for something that serves such a simple purpose. It's used by anesthesiologists as a paralytic during simple surgical procedures to keep muscles from involuntarily twitching. However it does leave one awake and alert, just unable to move. However in higher doses, it would leave one unable to breathe because it would eventually paralyze the diaphragm as well." Her smile turned more sadistic. "This is why I want you to make sure you miss when you shoot at him. He will immediately try to shoot back but when he pulls the trigger, he will inject himself with this, rendering him completely helpless. By the time Sherlock finds him, it will be too late. He won't be able to do anything but watch John slowly suffocate to death."

"And what am I supposed to do about her?" he asked, thumbing towards Edie door.

"Once Watson is incapacitated, Edie will have served her purpose. You can go in there and do away with her. Be as creative as you like, but remember that the Yard will be all over the place so make it quick. Then make your escape, and you're free to do as you wish." She purposely failed to mention the small wad of explosives that she had planted under the floorboards before Edie was brought there. She patted her pocket to make sure the detonator was still there. She couldn't leave any loose ends, could she? She would take care of Edie and this imbecile with the push of one button. Whoever "M" was, he had certainly thought of everything.

Making sure that her lackey had taken his position by Edie's door, she made her way downstairs. She paused as she reached the door that led back onto Baker Street, schooling her features to look as innocent as possible.

'_Let the games begin_!' she thought to herself. She opened the door and stepped outside.


	17. A Race Against Time

Sherlock sat in the back of his 3rd cab for the day, frustrated beyond belief that Molly's results didn't get him any farther than he already was. He knew that Molly was always at the top of her game, so the fault didn't lie with her work. Still, he couldn't help be disappointed.

As they rounded the west corner of Baker Street, he saw the cluster of cars from Scotland Yard along with a group of officers gathered around one in particular. They looked like they were making a plan to search the area as methodically as possible. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk. So Lestrade had finally managed to find some officers that actually shown promise instead of disappointment. He told the cabbie that he could let him out at the corner instead of having to fight through the congestion. The cabbie looked relieved and pulled over. Sherlock threw him a handful of bills as he exited the cab, heading towards the cluster of officers. As he approached he could easily hear John's voice over the din. With John leading the way, he knew they would definitely get results.

John was in the process of separating everyone into teams of 3 and assigning them sections to work. His military background gave him the authoritative voice and stance that commanded everyone's attention and respect, and he was making good use of it now. He happened to glance up for a moment and saw Sherlock heading towards them. Excusing himself from the group, he handed over command to another and walked towards Sherlock.

"How are you feeling? You look worn out." John remarked.

"Well it isn't as if I got a full night sleep last night." Sherlock replied, the humor apparent in his voice. "But I'm not as tired as you would think. I'm more disappointed than anything."

"Molly's results didn't give you any leads to go on?"

"Unfortunately, no. The only thing that was conclusive was that the bloodstain definitely belongs to Edie."

"Well that's something I guess."

"But not what I was hoping for." Sherlock sighed. "How's the search coming?"

"We're just about to start actually."

"Great. Where should I begin?"

"Oh no, Sherlock. You've been up all day running around the city when you're supposed to be taking it easy."

"John I'm fine!" Sherlock protested.

"And I intend to keep it that way! Look, it may be a few hours before we find her or anything useful. Until then, I want you to head home and have some tea and relax. As soon as we have something to go on, you'll be the first to know."

"But…."

"No buts!" John said firmly. Seeing the look on Sherlock's face, he softened just a bit. Lowering his voice he said, "Look Sherlock, I almost lost you once. I have no intention of going through that again. You would be going up and down countless staircases and I don't think you're ready for that just yet." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and gently squeezed, not giving a damn who may see them. "You were worried about something happening to me while we were on a case. It goes both ways, ya know."

Sherlock looked down at John's hand around his own, and felt that flutter in his chest that he had become addicted to. Returning the gentle squeeze that John gave him, he relented.

"Alright. But don't think for a second that I like it. I'll be keeping an eye out from the window, just to be sure."

"Whatever makes you happy Sherlock."

Dropping his voice an octave, he intoned, "YOU make me happy John." Leaning down, he gently covered John's lips with his own. John inhaled sharply in surprise, and felt a flush creep over his face, but he returned it without a second thought. After a moment, they broke apart and both happened to look over at the gathered crowd at the same time. The disbelieving stares and dropped jaws made it clear their 'secret' was out.

"Well I guess that will give them something to talk about." John remarked.

"People do little else John."

"I suppose you're right. Now off you go! We're wasting time."

Sherlock faked a pout but walked towards 221B with a smile. He almost wanted to stick around a little longer, just to hear what they had to say and come to John's defense if necessary, but knew that John could handle anything that was said to him. Besides, the last thing he wanted was John mad at him again.

John straightened his shoulders and walked briskly back among the sea of officers. "Alright, have we got everything sorted?" he asked. No one answered him; they just continued to stare in disbelief. John just rolled his eyes. "Let me just get this out of the way now, since you obviously cannot function without knowledge of other people's affairs." He cleared his throat and continued, making sure to speak loudly so everyone could hear and he wouldn't have to repeat himself. "Yes, Sherlock Holmes and I are in a committed relationship, and NO it isn't anyone's business but our own. But I will say this, and I'll only say it once, so make sure you spread the word: I will no longer tolerate any rude and unnecessary comments towards Sherlock. He has helped Scotland Yard more times that I can count and the least anyone can do is show him the appreciation and respect that he deserves." Seeing that stunned silence still prevailed, he went on. "That also goes for derogatory remarks regarding our relationship."

"And what are you going to do about it?" a voice said from the back of the crowd. Parting quickly, the officers moved away from a lean man in his early 20's and obviously a rookie on the force. "It's my opinion, and if I want to say something about it, who's going to stop me?" Feeling brave, he moved towards John and sneered. "I've heard all the stories about your so-called 'genius detective'. He's nothing but a junkie who thinks he's better than everyone else. Just because he also turns out to be a jobbie jabber doesn't mean people aren't going to talk any less, eh boys? Just watching the two of you together makes my head hurt from disgust."

John looked at him for a moment and instantly recognized the bluster of a newbie. He remembered feeling the same way when he was first promoted to command of his medical team in the Army. Luckily, it had taken a good friend to talk some sense into him and let the air out of his head before it had become a problem. But he didn't have that kind of time right now, so he would just have to make an example of him as quickly as possible. He quickly plastered a fake smile on his face to cover the seething rage that bubbled dangerously close beneath the surface.

"Yes you certainly have the right to your own opinion." John said. Extending his hand towards young man he offered him a handshake as he asked, "What's your name?"

Seeing the offered hand the man smirked, thinking he had gotten away with his remarks. He accepted the handshake eagerly. "Gibbons. Wally Gibbons."

"Well Gibbons, let me be the first to apologize for making you obviously uncomfortable." He shook the man's hand for a fraction of a second more before it used his firm grip to quickly yank the man towards him. As he stumbled forward, John grabbed Gibbon's head with both hands and unmercifully brought their skulls together, effectively headbutting him and knocking him to the ground.

"If you wanted to complain about me making your head hurt, now you have a legitimate reason." John said calmly. He watched at Gibbon's tried to shake his head to clear it, but it obviously wasn't working. He glanced at the other officers who had witnessed the entire exchange. Pointing to one of them, he said, "Take him back to Scotland Yard and let Lestrade know that I will come to check on him later this evening. If he asks what happened to him, tell him that I spend enough time looking for the scum of London, and I don't need any help from one of them." He set his shoulders back and simply watched as it took 2 officers to help Gibbon's up and into a squad car.

Sherlock had just reached the door of the flat when he had heard John's raised voice addressing the crowd. Even from a block away, he knew the voice meant business. He turned and had managed to watch the minor altercation that happened between John and the young man. He chucked and shook his head, and he would have been lying if he said he wasn't just a little turned on by the whole display. But that would have to wait until later. He just stood there and watched as the man was bodily placed in a car. Once inside, another officer got in front and proceeded to drive down Baker Street, passing right in front of Sherlock. The man in the back simply glared at him, but Sherlock just grinned and gave him a mock salute.

Turning around, he walked into the flat and hung his coat and scarf on the pegs then continued upstairs. He went straight into the kitchen to put the kettle on and brought down 2 cups, hoping that John would join him later on. As he waited for the whistle of the kettle, he took his place at the window and watched the goings on as best he could.

Having that situation dealt with, John now walked with the groups of officers further towards the west end of Baker Street. Sherlock watched as John pointed to several buildings and the assigned groups beginning their tasks. Eventually, John was the only one left standing in the street and he began to make his way towards 221B. Sherlock smiled. Perhaps he wouldn't have long to wait for John after all.

Once John was about a half a block away, Sherlock heard a woman screaming from the other direction. Looking east he saw a woman running towards John and calling his name. Hearing her, John broke into a run to meet her halfway. They just happened to meet only a few yards past 221B.

John had been on his way to check on Sherlock to make sure he was truly relaxing when he heard a woman screaming his name. She obviously seemed in trouble so he ran to her as quickly as he could. When he reached her, he grabbed her shoulders gently.

"What is it? Are you alright?" he asked. The woman took a second to catch her breath before answering but turned around and pointed behind her.

"I live a few flats over, and I heard a loud noise coming from upstairs. It sounded like a gunshot and a woman crying! There isn't anyone living above me so I have no idea who or what it could be."

He immediately thought of Edie. "Bring me there!" John demanded. They both took off, John following closely on her heels when he suddenly called for her to stop.

"Dammit!" he swore. "I need to run back for a moment. I forgot my Browning and the last thing I need to do is charge in unarmed where gunshots were heard!"

The woman quickly took a handgun from her inside jacket pocket. "Here, use mine!" John looked skeptical for a moment at the offered gun. The woman made a show of rolling her eyes. "Look, it's not going to bite you! I'm a single woman living in London and I believe in protecting myself. Just take it!"

John quickly accepted it and cocked it, not realizing that in doing so he released the drug inside to fill the hidden spikes. He was also so determined in following this woman that he didn't notice the other object that had fallen out her pocket onto the ground. Neither did she.

But someone had. Sherlock had watched the entire exchange between them and was about to rush downstairs to follow them when he saw the shiny object hit the ground. By the time he grabbed his coat and made it outside, they were over a block away and were just entering a building not too far from the end of Baker Street. Making sure he memorized which building they went into, he ran and picked up the object. Time froze and recognition hit him.

It was Edie's mobile.

He would know it anywhere, as he had gotten a good look at it that day in hospital when she took the photos for him. He opened it and the set wallpaper was all the conformation he needed: Edie and her daughter.

His brain worked like lightning, instantly connecting the pieces handed to him. The only way this woman would have Edie's mobile is if she had Edie herself. If that was the case, why hand John a gun? His mind blared the answer at him: it was a bluff. John was walking into a trap. He knew that all the officers behind him were too far away to be any assistance, so it was all up to him.

"JOHN!" he screamed, running as fast as he could, pushing his still healing body well past its limits. "JOHN!"

He reached the building in record time. Just as he yanked the door open and got inside, he heard the loud blast of a gun echoing all around him. His legs felt like lead as he bounded up the stairs as quickly as possible, but he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that he was too late.


	18. Standoff

John ran into the building as fast as he could, with the woman following close behind. Taking the stairs 2 at a time, he bounded up to the 2nd floor. As he reached the landing to head to the 3rd floor, he turned around and pointed at the woman.

"Stay here!" he commanded. Then as a second thought he added, "Go back to your flat and call Scotland Yard and tell them what you told me."

"Maybe I should come with you, just in case…" she started.

"GO!" he thundered. Without waiting to see if she obeyed, he pressed his back against the wall and cautiously made his way up the remaining stairs, the gun held securely and at the ready. When he came to the final landing, he paused. Inch by inch he slowly looked around the corner to make sure the way was clear. Unfortunately, it wasn't.

Blimey, the man was huge! If he was the bloke who was responsible for the kidnapping, poor Edie hadn't had a chance against him. He just hoped that there was still time to get to her before something awful happened to her, if it hadn't already. He paused for a moment and allowed all his military training to flood back to him, knowing that he would need every skill he possessed to get both Edie and himself out safely. He took a deep breath, and addressed the behemoth.

"I know you're there! If you're armed, I highly suggest you put it down if you want to walk out of here alive."

"Oi! You'd like that wouldn't you? You think I'm just going to walk out of here quietly, Army Man? Yeah, I know all about you. You're just a lot of talk and pretense. But I know better. You're just a washed-up soldier, a has-been! You want me? Come and get me!" he taunted.

John couldn't believe the man's audacity. He knew he was a crack shot, and proved it again months ago when he saved Sherlock's life from that deranged cabbie. If he had to take him down, then so be it. But the civilian in him decided to give him one last shot.

"You don't want to go out like this, do you? I'm sure whatever brought you to do something like this wasn't something of your choosing. I can help you!"

"Yeah, if by helping me you mean helping me into the back of a copper's car! I think I'll take my chances!"

John grunted in frustration. He wasn't getting anywhere with this lunatic. He peeked around the corner again to make sure the man wasn't sneaking up on him. This time, he noticed that he seemed to be guarding a door and a large window at the end of the hall behind him. Edie. She had to be in there. "At least tell me if you have the woman we've been searching for! Is she alright?" he pleaded.

"She might be. Why don't you ask her yourself?" he taunted again. He banged loudly on the door, causing a voice inside to shriek in fright. "Ay! There's a man out here who wants to know how you're doing. Why don't you tell 'em yourself!" he said loudly.

Hearing the fear in the voice loudly whimpering clawed at his insides and doubled his rage. If it was Edie, he needed to reassure her that he was here. "Edie! Is that you? Are you ok?" he yelled. He heard a muffled voice respond, as if they were a few feet from the door.

"Yes! I'm alright! Who are you? Please help me!" Edie pleaded.

"It's John Watson! Just hang tight and I'll get you out of there, I promise!"

"Doctor Watson! Thank God! But be careful, it's not just him, there's a woman-" she tried to warn him but was cut off by the man squeezing off another gunshot, this time aimed through the roof. John flinched, both at the unexpected shot and the magnitude of Edie's scream.

"Shut your mouth!" the man roared. "You've said enough!"

John knew the situation was spiraling out of control fast. He knew he had to think quickly and act even faster. His relief at finding her was mixed with fear of what could still happen if he didn't play his cards right. He kept his fear and rage carefully bottled up so that he could present composure to the frazzled and apparently desperate man. Taking one last deep breath, he stepped into the open and aimed straight at the man's head.

"Put the gun down and move away from the door." He said calmly.

"_No_, Army man!" he snapped. "No, _you're _going to put your gun down, then put your hands over your head! _You got that? _Just do it, or I'll shoot her through the door. I know exactly where she is and I promise you I won't miss! I swear! I'll kill her!"

"Kill her," John said evenly, "and you'll have nothing to bargain with."

"I don't _care_ whether she lives or dies!" he shot back. "If you don't care either, then that's that. So I kill her, put my hands over my head and surrender. You won't be able to do a damn thing about it except turn me over to the authorities. And she'll be dead. Now it that little scenario doesn't bother you, then fine! If you want to take a chance to make sure she lives, then I suggest that you put your gun on the floor and step back!"

"Even if I did so, I still would have plenty of options."

"No you don't! I know that and you know that! Now put it down! Come on! Do it! _Throw it down or I'll kill her!_"

"All right!" John said. "Take it easy!" Making no sudden movements, he slowly set the gun on the floor and took a step away from it.

"Your jacket too! You might have a weapon hidden inside. Slowly! One twitch and she's dead. Her life is in your hands now _Captain_! _Yours!_"

He slowly slid his jacket off and tossed it to the side. "There. Happy?"

The man grinned and raised his weapon and took dead aim at John's chest. But to his surprise, John remained calm as if he still had the upper hand.

"Now lay down your weapon and no one will hurt you."

The man just blinked. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No I'm not. You see, you're surrounded." John bluffed. "Scotland Yard is all over Baker Street, and I guarantee you that several snipers have you in their sight through the window behind you."

The man turned his head slightly to look behind him and it was all the distraction John needed to spring into action. He immediately dropped to the floor and dove for his gun.

Hearing the commotion, the behemoth instantly turned and let loose a barrage of gunfire, making sure to follow the woman's instructions. The wall above where John's head had been became peppered with bullet holes.

John landed awkwardly next to his gun and felt his shoulder scream in protest at being slammed on the ground. He gripped the gun firmly and smoothly squeezed the trigger, bracing himself for the kickback. But there wasn't any.

He was instantly assaulted by sharp stabbing pains all through his hand and palm. He yelped in surprised as he reflexively threw the gun out of his hands, feeling the spikes tear his flesh as they were ripped away from his hand. He stared in disbelief at his hand and the offending weapon, not comprehending what had just happened. From downstairs, he heard shouting and instantly recognized Sherlock's voice.

"Well I guess that's my cue to leave. I'll just take care of the loose ends," he said, thumbing towards the door, "and I'll be on my way." He opened Edie's door and stepped inside. He closed it behind him just as Sherlock made it to the top of the stairs. He threw himself on his knees next to John.

"JOHN! Are you alright?" He saw John's hand covered in blood and blanched. "What happened?"

"No time Sherlock! Edie's in that room with an armed maniac and he intends to kill her! GO!" he said.

Sherlock was torn between staying with John and running for Edie, but a sudden scream from the closed door made his mind up for him. He quickly took of his coat and used it to cover John, then leapt to his feet pulling John's Browning from his waistband. Bracing himself, he reared back and kicked the door open with as much force as he could muster. John watched as he disappeared into the room, and heard gunfire echoing all around him. Another scream, then all was quiet.

As he waited to see if Sherlock was successful, John noticed a strange sensation creep through his body. His hand had felt on fire when he first threw the gun away from him, but now it had become numb and the sensation was spreading. Fast. His head felt cloudy and his vision blurred as he had trouble keeping his eyes open. Every breath he took became more and more difficult, and soon he felt himself being dragged against his will into unconsciousness. He tried to sit up and call for Sherlock, but no sound came out and his body wouldn't obey him. It took every fiber of his being to fight slipping away completely, but he knew a losing battle when he saw it. He lay his head down and waited.


	19. Science or Faith?

Sherlock willed his frenzied mind to calm down as he prepared to kick the door open. He knew he was only to get one shot at this so he had to make it count. Bracing John's Browning firmly in his grasp, he kicked with all his might then immediately brought it up to eye level.

The scene before him chilled his blood. Edie was on the ground and was apparently chained there, made evident by the length of chain stretching from the floor to her ankle to the hands of the large man, who was using it to pull her towards him as she did her best to scratch and claw away from him. Just as the door burst open, the man yanked with all his might causing Edie to shriek in pain as it effectively broke her ankle. Her lack of food and sleep caused her to lie there limply, breathing heavily and the pain causing her eyes to glaze over. Within moments, her body had given up and she was unconscious.

The sudden crash of the door caused the man to swing around and immediately take a shot at Sherlock. With the reflexes of a cat, he ducked the anticipated shot and dropped to the floor. Swinging his long leg out in front of him, he swiped the man's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor as well. Sherlock then lunged for him, trying to gain the upper hand before he could shoot him or Edie, but the man was definitely stronger than he had guessed. They grappled each other, rolling from side to side. Sherlock managed to straddle him and land a solid punch to the man's nose, effectively causing blood to gush all over both of them. The man barely reacted to it. Instead he managed to loosen Sherlock's grip on him and return a few punches of his own.

The blows had Sherlock reeling from the pain. His momentary lapse was all the man needed to land another punch square on Sherlock's jaw, sending him flying backwards and John's gun to skitter out of his hand. He lay on his back, struggling to sit up, but the blows he received made his head swim.

The man now stood up over Sherlock, aiming his gun squarely at his head.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" he sneered. "You think you can always save everyone."

"Just tell me why." Sherlock panted. "Why Edie? What is she to you?"

"You really think this was about her? Some 'genius' you are. This is all about you! Someone wanted to get to you, and she was just the bait. But now that you're here, she's served her purpose and is no longer needed. No harm was supposed to come to you, but it's not everyone who gets the opportunity to take down the Great Sherlock Holmes." He cocked his gun loudly. "It's just too good an opportunity to pass up."

Sherlock stared straight into the man's face, not allowing his fear to show. He's heard that when someone comes face to face with their death, their life supposedly flashes before their eyes. His life before John wasn't worth remembering, so for him it became a barrage of images of what might have been: him and John sitting together on the couch watching crap telly and laughing until they couldn't breathe, holding hands as they visited the countryside and walked among the myriad of leaves changing colors in the Autumn, snuggling in bed together on a stormy night while the thunder rumbles to applaud their love for each other. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as a single teardrop escaped from his tightly closed lids. _John…I'm sorry…I love you…_

The gunshot was so loud in the enclosed room that his ears rang. He involuntarily jumped, but didn't feel the bite of a bullet anywhere on his body. He opened eyes and looked up in time to see a look of surprise on the man's face as blood began to pour from a single gunshot wound squarely between the eyes, then immediately crumple into a heap on the floor. In the doorway behind where the behemoth had been standing was a figure. As the smoke cleared, Sherlock recognized the silhouette of the woman who had run screaming for John in the street. She quickly approached him and kneeled beside him. Seeing her face up close had him stunned as he recognized the face.

"Gillian! What are you doing here?" he asked in amazement. It was almost like seeing a ghost. '_She's behind all of this?'_ He thought incredulously.

A few years ago, she had been living on the streets when Sherlock happened upon her trying to find something to eat in the rubbish bins behind Angelo's. He'd seen his share of the homeless around London and usually paid them no mind, except for the select few he employed in his "Network". He had every intention of just walking past her and minding his own business but she had suddenly looked up and met his eyes. He not only saw the shame she felt in her situation, but he also noticed that she seemed to have the look of uncanny intelligence. He had taken a chance on her and had never been disappointed. She had risen to the top of his "Network" and was always the first one he sought out when he needed information brought to him. Then one day, she had simply vanished. He had told himself that anything could have happened and it wasn't his problem, but a small part of him had always wondered.

However, she still hadn't realized that she had dropped Edie's mobile out on Baker Street and that he had pieced most of the puzzle together. Now he had the _Who?_, the _Where?_, and the _When?_. All he needed now was _WHY?_

"I'll explain later." She turned towards Edie. "I've already called 999. I'll take care of her. You get to your friend in the hallway."

Sherlock bolted out of the room as fast as he could. As soon as he was out of sight, Gillian slowly sat next to Edie as an unholy smile crossed her face. She had never called 999, and even if she had it would still be too late for John. Her smile broadened. Everything was almost in place. She took out her mobile and sent a text to the contact saved only as "M".

_It's almost time for phase two._

She was so occupied on her mobile that she didn't notice Edie slowly waking up behind her.

…...

Sherlock got to John in seconds. He was lying just as he left him, as if he hadn't moved at all. He threw himself on the floor beside him and yanked his coat from off of him.

"JOHN!" he screamed. John's eyes were on him but seemed unfocused. He quickly pulled John into his lap and gently shook him. "Are you alright? Say something!" He put his fingers to John's neck to check for a pulse. He found it, but it was slow and very weak, as was his breathing. In fact his breathing was so shallow that without having found his pulse, Sherlock could have easily mistaken him for dead. That thought released emotions in him that he had never felt in his life.

He cradled John's limp body against his own, nuzzling his face into the crook of John's neck and began to sob while rocking him back and forth. "John, please! Say something!" he begged. After a moment, he sat up and grabbed one of John's hands and used it to cradle his own face. John's hands were already becoming cold to the touch and it sent him over the edge even further.

He looked up at screamed, "SOMEBODY HELP ME!" to no one in particular. He continued to rock John in his arms, offering what little comfort he could. Suddenly he had a moment of Déjà vu and remembered that only a few days ago, their roles had been reversed. He looked down at John again, trying to focus on him through his tears.

"Jesus, John, was this what it was like for you? Is that what I put you through?" he sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! Please! I can't do any of this without you! I love you! I love you so much! Stay with me, PLEASE!" John continued to just stare at him blankly, seemingly looking right past him. Feeling defeated, Sherlock bowed his head and did the one thing he never thought he'd do.

He prayed.

"I'm a man of science, not a man of faith," he wept, "and I have never found anything to lend credibility to your existence. I've seen much in this world that I've been able to easily explain where others would call it miracles. But I've never believed miracles…..until John. He is my miracle. He believed in me when no one else would and saw the man I thought I had kept carefully hidden." His voice cracked, and Sherlock took a deep breath before he continued, "I'm begging you! If you do truly exist, prove it! Don't take him from me! I'll give up everything that means anything to me, because without him none of it will matter. PLEASE!"

He rocked John continuously, keeping a hand on John's throat, feeling the tiniest thread of hope with each weak heartbeat he felt. But as each pulse became weaker and weaker, Sherlock broke into more and more pieces. He had all but given up hope when he got the answer from above that he begged for, and it came in a language that Sherlock understood all too well.

A single gunshot.

Startled, he whipped his head around. He saw Edie limping slowly out of the room with a gun in one hand, and a mobile and a small bottle in the other. Seeing John motionless on Sherlock's lap caused her heart to stop and she hobbled as fast as she could towards them. Dropping next to them, she yanked John from Sherlock and lay him flat on his back. She mimicked Sherlock as she checked John for a pulse and was relieved to still find one. Without taking her eyes off John she tossed Sherlock both the mobile and the gun in her hand.

"His pulse is weak but we still may have a chance! Dial 999 and give them our location, and demand that they bring a bottle of Neostigmine with them! It's the only thing that will save him!" she ordered. Without asking questions, Sherlock did as he was told while Edie began doing CPR on John. Once he was off the phone, Edie tried to explain the best she could between each breath and compression.

"I'm guessing that somehow John was injected with a large amount of this," she said as she quickly tossed the bottle towards Sherlock. He read the label in a daze as she gave John another deep breath, then continued explained with each compression. "It's a paralytic, but I'm guessing he's had a large enough dose to paralyze his heart as well." _**breath **_"The Neostigmine with counteract it, if it gets here in time!" _**breath **_"I'll do my best to keep him alive until they get here." _**breath **_"Depending on how much he's had, it may be a losing battle, but I'll be damned if I let him go without a fight!" _**breath **_

Sherlock sat frozen as he watched Edie continue to help John as best as she could. He gripped one of John's hands tightly between both of his own as the tears continued to run unchecked down his face. He quickly glanced at the gun sitting next to him that Edie had thrown him and recognized it as the one Gillian had used to kill the man in the room and an unwelcome thought crossed his mind. _If John doesn't make it, there would be nothing left to live for. We will be together, one way or another. _


	20. Who said Heroes don't exist?

Edie had slowly come around through a haze of pain. Her body felt broken beyond repair, and she wanted nothing more than to slip back into numbness of the unconscious. She did feel a presence near her, so she slightly opened her eyes to see whether it was friend or foe. Seeing that psychotic woman so near her again made her stomach lurch, but she willed it into submission. The woman's back was turned to Edie so she used that to her advantage. Tilting her head ever so slightly, she glanced around the room. The man who was abusing her earlier lay silent on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The psycho was occupied on her mobile. And just in the corner of her eye, she noticed something glinting in that tiny sliver of sunlight that still pierced the room.

A gun, sitting mere inches from the woman.

If she just stretched her arm out a little farther, she knew she could reach it. But in doing so, she also knew that she could attract the woman's attention. It was a gamble, but given her current situation what did she have to lose? Using her uninjured foot, she slowly began bracing herself to quickly push herself towards the gun, hoping that she could successfully retrieve it in one shot. Taking a deep breath she silently counted to herself.

3…..2…..1…..

She pushed with all her might and slid across the floor. The sound of the chain around her ankle rattling alerted the woman to movement behind her, but by the time she turned around, Edie had the gun in her hands and leveled it at her with shaking hands. She had never handled a gun before and was surprised to feel just how heavy it was. Nevertheless, she kept it carefully aimed, her finger solidly on the trigger. When she addressed the psycho, her voice shook as badly as her hands.

"Let me go."

The woman calmly assessed her and just smiled. "Or what? You'll shoot me?" Be reasonable dearie. It's obvious that you don't have any experience handling that thing, so why don't you be a good lass and hand it over before someone gets hurt?"

"I think enough people have been hurt because of you. I think it's time you had a dose of your own medicine. You certainly are clever enough to give it, but are you woman enough to take it?"

The woman's smile faded and her face became as hard as stone. Her eyes narrowed then clouded over with rage. "How dare you!" she ground out. "You have no idea what I've been through! I've been 'taking it' for longer than I care to admit. Do you have any idea what I've been through? Looking through bins for every meal, not knowing if I'll have a warm place to sleep each night? I'm sure a woman like you never had to worry about such things. If you had seen me on the street you've probably wouldn't have given me a second glance, but would have wrote me off like everyone else did." She swallowed, and when she spoke again her voice had softened and she sounded almost vulnerable. "But then Sherlock came along and gave me a chance. He saw me and knew that I was so much more. When he offered me a chance to help him, I jumped at the chance. I was at his beck-and-call and I answered him every time he needed me. I jumped through every hoop he asked me to, all in the hopes that he would offer me more. But he never did. So I tried harder. Do you know what it's like to go unnoticed by the ONE person you devoted your life to? DO YOU?"

Edie just continued to stare at her, not lowering her gun.

The woman continued, "I kept seeing him in all the papers, getting famous for solving all those cases. He couldn't have solved half of those without me! I got him all the information he needed! I went to places he didn't dare go! But did he thank me? NO! He just kept asking for more and more, and I kept giving it in the hopes he would see what he meant to me. He always seemed so alone, and I wanted him to see that he didn't have to stay that way. There wasn't anything I wouldn't have done for him. If he would have only given me the chance, we could have had it all! We could have been unstoppable!"

"So why not just tell him all this?" Edie asked.

"I started to, but I chickened out. It took me weeks to find the nerve to approach him outside of his work for me. When I finally decided to tell him everything, I went to his flat here on Baker Street. But before I could approach him, I saw him talking to someone who was apparently moving in the flat with him. Turns out it was John Watson. I figured that once everything was settled again, he would seek me out again for another case. But he never did. Then I saw the papers and eventually heard about the blog that Watson kept. I managed to access it once and read some of it. Can you imagine the betrayal I felt at being replaced by HIM? Everything I wanted, everything I had worked so hard for was just handed to him on a silver platter. But Sherlock is a very high-strung and demanding individual and I figured that it would only be a matter of time before John disappointed him."

"And while you were waiting, I bet you didn't count on Sherlock falling in love with him either, did you?" Edie asked with a grin.

"I had heard the rumors, but dismissed them. If Sherlock hadn't realized what I could have been for him after all I had done for him, I knew it couldn't possibly be true. John is nothing compared to me!"

"And yet, Sherlock still chose him over you."

The woman shrugged. "Even a genius can make mistakes. But Sherlock is too proud to admit it so I took it upon myself to correct his mistake for him. He'll thank me for it in the long run."

"So you had your heart broken. It doesn't give you the right to interfere with people's lives!"

"Oh I have more than the right to do what I did. Everything John Watson has, I've already earned! I want what is owed to me, and I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to get what I deserve." the woman declared.

Just then Sherlock's voice could be heard outside screaming, "SOMEBODY HELP ME!" The fear and panic in his voice was enough to break anyone's heart, and Edie had to fight back the tears that had immediately gathered in her eyes. She had to get out there, and quickly.

Still keeping her gun aimed, she carefully stood up while trying not to put too much weight on her broken ankle. "I'm quite certain that you will get what you deserve." she remarked. "A padded cell with 3 meals a day sounds right up your alley."

The woman stood up as well, never breaking eye contact with Edie. When she looked like she wanted to take a step forward, Edie responded by clumsily cocking the gun. The woman just laughed.

"Are you still thinking you have the guts to shoot me? You don't have what it takes to take a life!" she taunted.

"No," Edie replied, "but I was trained to save lives. And that's just what I'm about to do."

Before the woman could reply, Edie closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. The kickback nearly knocked her off her already unbalanced feet, but she managed not fall over. Edie watched as the woman was knocked back a few steps by the gunshot. With a look of shock on her face, she looked down in time to see blood quickly saturating her shirt from the bullet hole in her chest.

"Well I'll be damned." she murmured, just before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed on the floor. She gasped for a moment more, and then was silent.

Edie stood over her, and tried to take in what just happened. She knew that she had no choice but decided to worry about it later. She knelt down next to the woman's body and started to go through her pockets. She found the small glass bottle labeled Succhinylcholine in one pocket. She instantly paled when she recognized what it was. She grabbed it then began searched another. She almost sobbed in relief when she found a small set of keys. One of these had to be the key to her freedom. She quickly tried each key in the lock around her ankle, and on her third try, she heard the click announcing her success. She carefully removed the shackle, painfully aware of the swelling and bruising underneath. Throwing it aside, she reached down and grabbed the gun again, along with the woman's mobile. Hobbling carefully, she made her way towards the open door. Sherlock's sobs were more heart-wrenching then ever. Putting her own pain aside, she knew she had to hurry.

She limped out the door and saw Sherlock on the floor cradling John's limp body in his lap. Her shock was only momentary, then her training instantly took over. She felt that familiar surge of Adrenaline course through her and it caused her own pain and exhaustion to disappear. Edie dropped to the floor next to them and grabbed John from Sherlock's lap to lay him flat on the floor. She didn't even realize she was holding her breath as she checked for a pulse until she let one out in relief when she found it, although it was already extremely weak. Without taking her eyes off John she tossed the mobile to Sherlock and ordered him to call for help, instructing him to tell the paramedic to bring Neostigmine. She knew it was the only medication that could counteract the effects of the Succhinylcholine if administered in time. Determined, she began doing CPR until help arrived. During each set of chest compressions she spoke to Sherlock, knowing from countless experience the look of someone paralyzed with fear and panic. She saw the way Sherlock clung to John's lifeless hand; saw the tears staining his face, and the hope slowly dimming in his eyes. A moment later, she caught him glancing at the gun next to him on the floor and could only imagine what someone in his position would have going through his mind. As she feverishly worked, she instinctively knew that she wasn't just fighting for John's life….but Sherlock's as well.

…..

It seemed like countless hours, but in reality it had only been less than 5 minutes before they heard the siren downstairs. When the door leading to Baker Street burst open Sherlock yelled, "UP HERE!" Footsteps thundered up the stairs and 3 men suddenly appeared holding med kits. Before they could say a word, Edie took charge.

"He's had a large dose of Succhinylcholine and needs the Neostigmine before you move him. Did you bring it?" she demanded.

"Right here." one paramedic answered. He quickly dug in the bag and got a vial along with a large syringe. Edie quickly snatched both from him and started to fill syringe with half the bottle. The paramedic instantly began to protest.

"You can't just…." he began.

"I'm a nurse and I know that I'm doing!" she snapped. "Can you get that gurney up here? We're losing him!" 2 of the men hurried back downstairs to get the stretcher while the 3rd stayed with them and began to prep John for an I.V. Gripping the syringe firmly in both hands, she used all her strength to plunge it deeply into John's chest. Sherlock jumped at the seemingly violent act but never relinquished his death grip on John's hand. He remained silent as Edie pushed the plunger and administered the entire dosage. Edie pulled the syringe out and threw it to the side just as the paramedic finished taping the injection port to John's forearm.

"Where's that gurney?!" she yelled.

"The stairway is narrower than usual." answered the paramedic. "They may be having trouble getting it up here."

"To hell with the damn stairs!" Sherlock suddenly interjected. He dropped John's hand and got to his feet, then quickly swept John in his arms. He raced down the stairs, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. He met the other 2 paramedics at the bottom and unwillingly relinquished him into their care. He wanted to stay with John, but knew that Edie needed help as well. If John survived, it would be because of her. He couldn't let her down.

Sherlock ran back up the stairs and saw that the paramedic that stayed with her was already placing a splint around her ankle and calf. Bending down, he easily lifted her into his arms as well and carried her downstairs, with the paramedic following close behind. When they reached the ambulance, they saw John already strapped in and hooked onto a monitor while CPR was continued.

"Is there a stretcher for her?" Sherlock asked.

"We only have room for one." the paramedic answered apologetically.

"Then I'll bloody well hold her myself!" Sherlock snapped. He handed her over to the paramedic as he climbed inside, and then held his arms out to settle Edie in his lap. The paramedic working on John raised an eyebrow at the unanticipated passengers behind him but wisely held his tongue. Sherlock settled Edie as comfortably as possible in the cramped space. Satisfied all the passengers were safely inside, the driver slammed the door then ran towards the front and climbed inside. Within seconds, the sirens blared and they shot forward.

Suddenly the adrenaline rush that fueled Edie disappeared and she slumped against Sherlock. Sherlock held her steady in his lap as the vehicle rocked back and forth, flying around curves and traffic that impeded their journey, but his eyes were only for John. He listened to the monitors that were connected to John, each beep giving him hope.

"What's happening? How is he?" Sherlock demanded.

The paramedic never took his attention off of John, but spoke to Sherlock over his shoulder. "His BP is very low, but is slowly climbing as is his heart rate as the Neostigmine is starting to take affect. He's nowhere out of the woods yet, though. Depending on how long his brain was deprived of the oxygen it needed…" he swallowed and left that thought hanging for a moment before he continued. "Only time will tell."

Overhearing, Edie wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck and hugged him tightly. Sherlock clung to her as well and felt the need to say something.

"No matter what happens," he murmured in her ear, "I cannot thank you enough for all you have done."

At his words Edie let her tears fall freely, and just hoped everything she had done would be enough.


	21. Brotherly Affection Part 2

Sherlock silently stood outside the double swinging doors that led down a hallway that held several triage rooms. He had followed John's stretcher as far as he was allowed to, but was stopped from entering at the doors. He watched through the tiny windows at eye level until John was whisked into a room and was out of sight. Still he stood there, unwilling to move. Hospital staff still swirled around him but he refused to acknowledge them, which earned him many dirty looks. He didn't care. He wasn't leaving that spot, staff be damned.

After a while he detected a presence behind him. He assumed that it was probably a staff member who had come to see if he needed anything and to politely ask him to wait somewhere less intrusive. He continued to ignore them but the presence never left, just continued to remain silent just behind his right shoulder. His nerves were already shot to hell, and he was ready to turn around and send them scuttling for cover. Before he could move or say a word, the presence spoke first, the familiar clipped tones surprising him.

"How are we doing, Dear Brother?"

Sherlock's shoulders slumped almost imperceptivity, his seemingly only outward manifestation of the turmoil inside. Mycroft's keen perception noticed instantly. He was at a loss at what else he could say. Comforting someone wasn't something he had experience in, and it was more difficult because it was Sherlock. They didn't exactly have the closest of relationships. He had always used his position in the government and his considerable influence to keep an eye on him but none of it would help Sherlock now. He wasn't used to feeling helpless and found it dreadful indeed. If _he_ felt this way, he couldn't begin to imagine the magnitude of helplessness Sherlock was feeling. Reaching out, he placed his left hand on Sherlock's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Sherlock turned to face him and Mycroft was shocked at what he saw: pure misery, etched on every plane of his face; eyes red-rimmed and swollen. In truth he had never seen Sherlock in such a state, not even when his beloved Redbeard was taken from him. For the first time he truly understood just how deeply he loved John. A lump formed in his own throat which he unsuccessfully tried to swallow down, and he felt his eyes beginning to sting.

The feeling of a hand on his shoulder startled Sherlock. It wasn't like Mycroft to initiate any type of physical contact, let alone one that he assumed was meant to offer comfort. Slowly he turned and faced Mycroft, the lump in his throat preventing him from saying anything. The look on Mycroft's face surprised him however. He looked….troubled, to say the least. Sherlock had never known Mycroft to show any outward emotions other than disdain or boredom. But seeing Mycroft this way, fighting with emotions that were so obviously foreign to him allowed Sherlock the strength to do something he never would have imagined.

He reached over as he took a step closer to close the gap between them, and enveloped Mycroft with both arms. He had always called Mycroft a 'rubbish big brother' but he knew it was only because he resented the fact that Mycroft was always one step ahead of him in all things. No matter what he did during his childhood, it was never good enough. The gap between them had grown more and more distant until finally there was only the passing familial connection between them. By that time, Sherlock had left for University and Mycroft was already working his way up the political ladder. Other than holidays and forced family functions, they had seen little of each other. But all that seemed distant now. Seeing Mycroft actually 'feeling' for his sake awoken the child in him and he sought his big brother's reassurance.

As Sherlock embraced him, Mycroft was momentarily stunned. It was pure reflex that caused him to return the hug, and he felt Sherlock completely surrender himself to his brother and his sorrow. After a moment or two, Mycroft's demeanor softened and he held Sherlock tighter, allowing him to take whatever solace he could offer. He allowed Sherlock to cling to him for as long as he felt the need to, and begin to wonder how things could have been different between them if they hadn't been so competitive as children. However the past was in the past and couldn't be changed. But the future was still ahead of them. He reasoned to himself that if the love of a man like John Watson could change his irritating brother in such a positive way, then perhaps he could use his love for Sherlock to mend the rift between them. For Sherlock's sake, he vowed to himself to try.

They stood together in their tight embrace for countless minutes, not caring who saw them. Eventually Sherlock was the one to straighten up, looking momentarily embarrassed about what he had done.

"Eh…Mycroft…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…." he stammered as he sniffled, trying to compose himself. Mycroft simply reached into his inner pocket of his hideously expensive Westwood suit and offered Sherlock his monogrammed handkerchief.

"It's to be expected." Mycroft remarked. Sherlock took the offering and wiped his face as best he could. "Come on Sherlock. I'll buy you a cup of tea." he offered.

Sherlock looked momentarily panicked. "I'm not leaving this spot until I hear word on John's condition!" he protested. Mycroft heaved a sigh, then pointed behind them to a grouping a chairs nearby.

"At least sit down. I'll have it brought to us." Sherlock looked like he was about to say something but Mycroft simply lifted his chin, almost daring him to argue. Resigning to his brother's wishes he walked over to the sitting area and sat down, instantly hanging his head in his hands. Mycroft pulled his mobile from his pocket and pushed one button, instantly connecting him to his P.A. He told her what he required then simply disconnected the call. He sat next to Sherlock, balancing his umbrella neatly against the chair next to him.

"Sherlock," he murmured quietly "I hope you know that anything John needs will be seen to."

"I know. But I can't help but feel guilty that he's in this situation in the first place."

"It's not your fault Sherlock! There wasn't anything you could have done differently."

"I've been over everything that happened in my mind dozens of times and I know you're right. But logic doesn't always absolve guilt."

Mycroft was about to reply when a man walked through the doors that John was whisked through and called out "Watson?" Sherlock shot to his feet and ran over to him, Mycroft close behind. Approaching him, Sherlock recognized him as the same doctor that oversaw his own care: Dr Hawthorne.

"Dr. Hawthorne?" he asked in surprise. "What are you doing working in Emergency?"

Dr. Hawthorne just smiled. "Apparently my service to you was quite satisfactory to someone who can make things happen. I have been assigned as the personal physician to both you and Dr. Watson. Day or night, I'm at your service. And may I add, the honor is mine."

Sherlock glanced over at Mycroft, knowing this had to be his doing. Without saying a word, Mycroft simply nodded once as if to say 'Don't mention it Little Brother. It's the least I could do'.

Turning back to Dr. Hawthorne Sherlock asked a multitude of question in rapid fire. "When can I see him? Is he alright? Will there be any permanent issues? When can I take him home? WHEN CAN I SEE HIM?"

"Dr. Watson is being moved into a private room as we speak. As soon as he's settled I'm sure he'll be eager to see you as well." Dr. Hawthorne replied. "We're only keeping him overnight just as a precaution."

"So everything is ok? He's going to be fine?"

"Yes, he'll be good as new in no time. He may still feel slightly groggy from the amount of paralytic that was in his system but that's completely normal. The residual effects will eventually work their way out on their own." He then spoke to Mycroft. "I have also spoken to Edie after she was treated for exhaustion and dehydration. Her ankle only had a small hairline fracture and should heal quite nicely. Before her daughter came and took her home, she relayed to me the details of what happened, but I'm sure you would like a copy of her report."

"Naturally." Mycroft replied.

"It's already been faxed to your P.A."

"Well done. After reviewing it, I'm sure I will find her actions nothing short of exemplary. In fact, I think she deserves compensation of some sort for her services towards Dr. Watson and my dear brother. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would like you to inform her that she also will be assigned to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson on a permanent basis. Her salary will be exponentially increased so she will no longer have the need to report here any longer."

Dr. Hawthorne held out his hand and offered a handshake to Mycroft, which he readily accepted. "You're the boss!" he said with a grin.

"Yes I am, aren't I?" Mycroft replied smugly.

They were interrupted by a chime coming from Dr. Hawthorne's mobile. He dug it out of is Physician's coat and read the message displayed on the screen. Returning it to its assigned pocket he said, "Well Mr. Holmes. John is all settled and is asking to see you. I'll show you the way."

Sherlock fell into step behind Dr. Hawthorne. After a few feet he realized that Mycroft wasn't following them. Turning he asked, "Are you coming, Mycroft?"

"No Sherlock, I have other matters that need attending just now. But worry not, I will be kept abreast of all matters concerning John and will make myself available when needed."

Sherlock walked back towards Mycroft and stood in front of him. "Mycroft…thank you. For everything."

Mycroft looked uneasy for a moment, not sure how to express his thoughts without seeming sentimental. He settled for another gentle squeeze on Sherlock's shoulder. "Go on. Your doctor needs you. Give him my best regards."

Sherlock nodded then turned again to follow Dr. Hawthorne. Mycroft watched them until they disappeared around a corner. He took out his mobile once again and phoned his P.A.

"Anthea. Cancel the tea I requested but I have another assignment for you. I do believe that my brother and his doctor will need some time away from the mundane of their lives to regain their bearings. And I believe I know just where to send them."


	22. Deja Vu

Sherlock saw that the door to John's room was ajar so he slipped quietly inside. He stood silently for a moment and just gazed at him, still feeling the butterflies in his stomach. The relief he felt finally knowing that John was going to be ok lifted the weight that had settled on his shoulders.

John still had his eyes closed so he continued to just watch him, memorizing all the details that he had come to love over the past months: the touch of grey that highlighted his temples in his otherwise honey blonde hair, the lines around his eyes that crinkled mischievously whenever he laughed, the strong line of his jaw that only accentuated the soft pink of his lips. He had never been one to notice such things in the past but he had absolutely no problem admitting now that John was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and his chest swelled with pride once again because he was able to call him his.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sigh from John. Without even opening his eyes he asked, "Are you just going to stand there looking at me all day, or are you actually going to come in and see me?"

"How did you know I was here?"

John opened his eyes and chuckled. "You have a bad habit of mumbling to yourself when you think too hard."

"I do not!"

"Ha! Everytime you go into your Mind Palace, I have to turn up the volume on the telly to drown you out!"

They shared a smile for a moment or two, but Sherlock's face slowly fell when he thought again about just where they were. John noticed.

"Hey now, it's alright. Doc says I'm going to be fine. Although this…" he said, holding up his bandaged right hand, "hurts like bloody hell!"

Seeing the bandages around John's hand let loose something inside Sherlock that caused him to cry out and run to John. All of his fear from losing John was coming free after being bottled up and he knew the only way he could expel it for good was to actually _touch_ John and feel for himself that he was really here and not just a cruel dream. Without hesitation, he approached John and instantly went to cup his face with both hands. He felt John's warmth and the slight stubble under his fingers, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sherlock, what are you _mmph_" John started to ask but was instantly silenced by Sherlock crushing their mouths together. After getting over his initial shock, he returned the kiss with the same urgency that Sherlock seemed to have and relished every minute of it. They nipped and tasted each other until John finally had to break away for air and laughed at the pout on Sherlock's face because of it.

"Sherlock, we've been through this before. We can't ravish each other in hospital!" he laughed.

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

John just shook his head and pulled Sherlock down for another quick kiss. "Alright, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, do you mind telling me just what the hell happened?"

Sherlock glanced around the room and saw a chair towards the foot of the bed, very similar to the one John had endured. He pulled it closer to John then sat down. "What do you remember?"

John tried to think through the fog that was still swirling through his mind. "I remember a woman running towards me for help. I followed her into a building and up some stairs." He paused for a moment to think some more. "She had given me a gun…..I had tried using it against the man who had Edie…" Suddenly he shot upright. "Edie! Where is she? Is she ok?"

Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder and gently pushed him back down to his reclined position. "She's fine. She came through with nothing more than a fractured ankle and dehydration."

John sagged in relief. "Oh thank god! I'm glad we were able to save her before anything worse happened."

Sherlock just gave John a half-smile. "Actually John, she saved _**you**_."

John just stared at him. "I must still be groggy as hell because you aren't making any sense Sherlock."

"The man that you had attempted to shoot wasn't the one actually kidnapped Edie. He must have been some kind of hired help. The brawn without any brains."

"So if it wasn't him….."

"It was the woman who had flagged you down in the street. Her name is Gillian."

"Wait, what? How do you know that? And how do you know her?"

"I was watching you from the window of our flat when she yelled for you. When she had reached into her jacket and handed you the gun, she didn't notice that she had dropped something else. By the time I ran downstairs to follow, you had already followed her into the building. I picked up the object only to discover that it was Edie's mobile. The only way she could have had it was if she had kidnapped Edie herself."

"So if she was the kidnapper, why call me? And give me a damn gun, no less!"

"John you have a reputation for charging in whenever anyone needs help. It's in your nature as a doctor. She used that against you, and baited you. The gun was a trap."

John looked at his right hand almost completely hidden underneath the gauze. "I guess that explains this then. When I shot at the bloke who was guarding Edie, it didn't go off. I felt this stabbing pain in my hand instead, then felt like I had been drugged." He glanced at Sherlock. "I vaguely remember you coming up right after. And then…..nothing."

Sherlock sighed, debating on how much to tell John. He finally decided on the entire truth. "You had been injected with a large dose of a paralytic. Something called Succhinylcholine." He watched John's expression and knew that he had recognized the drug in question. "I managed to kill the man myself, but somehow Edie managed to extricate herself from Gillian. She really is quite remarkable. Anyway, it was her skills as a nurse that managed to save your life."

John just listened in stunned silence. "How did she…."

"She was administering CPR on you while I dialed for the paramedics. She knew what drug would counteract the effects and demanded them to bring it, which she administered herself by injecting directly through your chest." John rubbed his chest then and felt the sore muscles there.

"Not one for subtlety is she?" he tried to joke.

Sherlock's expression was deadpan. "John we were losing you. I think her lack of bedside manner can slide this once, don't you think?"

"Yeah I know. But explain something else to me. You said you knew that woman. What was her name?"

"Gillian."

"Yeah, her. How do you know her?" John smirked. "Don't tell me….old girlfriend?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Please John. When have you even known me to show any interest in any woman?"

"The name Irene Adler comes to mind."

"She had a keen mind and uncanny intelligence, for a woman anyway! My interest in her was strictly a fascination of her mind! It wasn't the least bit sexual!" he protested.

John laughed. "Do you have any idea how adorable you are when you get your feathers ruffled?"

Sherlock grunted. "Enough about _that_ woman! You wanted to know how I knew Gillian. Now will you shut up long enough for me to tell you, or will you continue to make jokes suitable enough for someone still in short pants?" John's only reply was to stick his tongue out and blow a loud raspberry. Sherlock just rolled his eyes but couldn't help the grin that crossed his face. "Acting like a child, are we?" he asked.

"It helps when you're constantly dealing with one." John retorted, still grinning. "But go ahead and tell me. I'll shut up now." Sherlock just raised one eyebrow, clearly not believing him. "I promise!" John added.

Sherlock sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, his long-time habit whenever he was about educate someone at length on a matter. John knew this and settled in for what he assumed would be a lengthy explanation.

"Gillian was a member of my Homeless Network some time ago. Truthfully, she was one of the best I had. I don't know how she found out all the information I had asked her for, but she never disappointed me. Sometimes she gave me more than I asked for."

"Sounds like she was trying to impress you. Perhaps maybe even had a crush on you?"

"Don't be absurd."

"I'm not! You don't notice the way some women look at you when we're out. They would love to find out what you're hiding under that coat of yours."

Sherlock looked almost appalled. "That's just what I need. I'm already considered a freak. Now I have to add 'side of beef' to the list."

John laughed. "But a very appetizing 'side of beef', if I do say so myself. But I suppose my opinion doesn't matter. I am biased, after all."

Sherlock's face softened. "John, if you haven't learned by now, yours is the ONLY opinion that matters to me."

"Glad to hear it."

Sherlock smiled as he watched John try to stifle a yawn. He knew he was tired and Dr. Hawthorne had explained to him that the residual effects of the drug in his system would want to make him sleep it off. He got up and pressed a kiss to John's forehead. "I can tell that you are tired. Get some rest. I'll still be here when you wake up." John had closed his eyes with the kiss but didn't open them as he shook his head no. Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What do you mean no? No what? You want me to leave?" he asked. John's only reply was to scoot over in his bed and pull the blankets over, effectively uncovering the side closest to Sherlock.

"If I'm going to sleep, you're going to rest too." He muttered, already halfway asleep. Sherlock grinned to himself as he stood up and removed his coat to sling it over the back of the chair. He toed off his shoes then carefully slid next to John, curling up beside him and wrapping around him like ivy. John replaced the blanket over them and settled further their little cocoon.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist and gently squeezed, careful to consider the lingering soreness in his chest. Feeling John beside him, hearing his heartbeat made him smile. John was alive. He let that mantra repeat itself over and over in his mind until he followed John into a peaceful slumber.


	23. A Happy Ending or New Beginning?

Sherlock and John spent a peaceful night together but were more than ready to leave the next morning. Once getting the clearance from Dr. Hawthorne, Sherlock couldn't get John out of there fast enough.

Sherlock wheeled John downstairs, predictably impatient. What neither of them could predict, however, was what was waiting for them as they walked through St. Bart's main entrance.

A large black limousine.

Sherlock thought that it was probably just Mycroft wanting them to be as comfortable as possible on the way back to their flat. John looked up at Sherlock in surprise, and was even more surprised when he saw a smile on Sherlock's face instead of the usual grimace he had when faced with anything that had to do with his brother. _'I must still be drugged up.. .' _John thought to himself.

Sherlock wheeled John towards the car slowly knowing that the driver would any minute exit the vehicle and open the doors for them. But he never did. Instead, the back door swung open on its own, and a bright looking young woman popped out.

"Mr. Holmes? Dr. Watson?" she asked politely. Sherlock and John exchanged looks again, not sure what to make of this. She noticed and laughed lightly. "I promise you, I have no ill designs towards the two of you, unless you count hugging you until you can't breathe." She held her hand out towards Sherlock. "I'm Brianna."

The name instantly registered in Sherlock's mind and he quickly grasped her hand with a smile. "Brianna! Of course! I'm pleased to finally meet you." John stared up at him with a look that said _'Mind filling me in?'_ Sherlock stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back. "Dr. John Watson, may I introduce to you Brianna, Ms. Edie's only daughter."

John whipped his head around in shock, then immediately smiled. He struggled for a moment to gather his bearings, the stood up from the wheelchair. "Well then, I'd like to take you up on that offer of a hug!" he said. He opened his arms, and Brianna walked into his embrace. They separated after a moment, and John asked her, "How is your mom doing? She's feeling alright?"

Brianna's smile grew wider. "She's right inside. Why don't you ask her yourself?"

They approached the large car and climbed inside. As promised, there sat Edie. She had her ankle in a small but brightly colored cast and a set of crutches leaning against the seat next to her, but the smile on her face was genuine.

"Dr. Watson! You have no idea how pleased I am to see you!" she gushed. John slid over to her and allowed himself to be enveloped in another embrace, while Brianna and Sherlock looked on amusedly. Sherlock moved so that he was sitting next to John while Brianna closed the door with a slam, signaling to the driver that they were ready. Within moments, the car whisked them away.

"Not as happy as I am to see you!" he answered. "How are you doing?"

"I've been a lot worse honestly, but I suppose I can ask the same thing of you." she retorted.

John looked down for a moment, not sure how to put into words what he wanted to say. "I could be a lot worse off. And from what I've been told, I believe that I owe you my life." He leaned over and gave Edie a light peck on her cheek. "I don't think I know the proper words to thank you for what you did for me." He turned and glanced at Sherlock and took his hand. "For us. I'm just sorry that we didn't figure out everything sooner."

Edie waved it off, trying not to let her emotions cloud her words. "In the end, it all worked out ok. I just want to put all that nasty business behind us and enjoy the trip! I'm so excited!"

A look of confusion settled on the boy's faces. "Trip?" Sherlock asked then looked at Brianna. "What trip?"

"We've all been given a holiday!" she explained, her excitement mirroring her mother's. "A woman named Anthea knocked on our door this morning and told us that we were going away for a week's holiday but wouldn't tell us where, just to pack our bags and be downstairs within the hour. Naturally I was skeptical, given what had just happened to my mother. But then she informed us that we were to be picking you two up along the way to join us, so we packed as quickly as possible and here we are!"

'_Mycroft'_ Sherlock wondered to himself. _'What does he have up his sleeve this time?'_ It was true that their relationship was in the very early stages of reconciliation, but this was a leap of faith even for him. John, for his part, started to look slightly panicked.

"If this is Mycroft's doing, I'll string him up myself! Kidnapping me when it suits him is one thing, but there is absolutely no reason for him to bring these good people into this!"

As if on cue, Sherlock's mobile pinged in response. He dug it out his pocket and looked at the notification of a text from Mycroft. Seeing it, John leaned over as Sherlock unlocked the screen and read the message along with him.

**Not to worry. There is no imminent case that requires either of your presence in London at the moment so I have seen to it that you and your doctor will get some well deserved time away. Consider it a congratulatory gift, dear brother, on finding someone who gives you that which you have sought for so long. Enjoy your holiday, and give my best regards to everyone. – MH**

"Well I'll be damned. But he still didn't say where we were headed." John said.

Sherlock looked out the window at the scenery and saw a sign that gave him a clue. "Wherever it is, it's going to be an interesting trip." he said, pointing. The three other passengers followed his finger and happened to catch a glimpse of the sign before it was out of sight.

London Heathrow Airport - 5 km

"The airport!" Brianna squealed. "Now this is really getting exciting!"

….

They pulled into Heathrow but instead of parking in the usual lane for vehicles dropping off passengers, it made a shift into another lane and drove them straight onto a private runway. A small jet sat waiting for them, reflecting the sunlight. Its door was opened and the stairs were placed on small red carpet.

"Would you just look at that?!" Edie breathed in awe. "I feel like a proper celebrity! What on earth did we do to deserve such treatment?"

Sherlock sighed. "This is my brother's doing. Given the recent situation, he felt we all deserved a holiday. But he may live to regret that." When John, Edie, and Brianna stared at him in askance he just smirked. "I still have a copy of his credit cards."

Everyone laughed as the limousine came to a halt near the stairs. Brianna and Sherlock were the first to climb out, and they took turns helping the rest of the passengers out. The driver then made his appearance known, coming around to retrieve Edie and Brianna's bags from the boot. Seeing the bags reminded John that they didn't have anything packed for themselves. Before he could say anything about it, Sherlock made a show of patting his back pocket. "It's a holiday, remember. Trust me; we will get everything we need." John just grinned.

They walked over and joined the ladies as they continued to stare in awe of the jet. "I wonder what kind of plane this is." Brianna quietly murmured to her mother.

"It's an Embraer Legacy 600. It can cover over 3700 miles in one fueling and can reach speeds of 834 kph. Built by Embraer-Empresa Brasileira de Aeronautica with a Rolls-Royce AE 3007 engine." Sherlock explained, his pronunciation flawless. The women just stared at him while John just shook his head.

"Show-off!" he said.

"You wouldn't have me any other way." Sherlock retorted. Clapping his hands together once, he continued, "All right then. Enough show-and-tell. Let's climb aboard."

The quickly did so, allowing the small flight crew to handle the luggage. They each took their seats and admired the interior. Everything was in a soft cream color, which was highlighted by warm wooden accents. The chairs were upholstered in matching cream leather that was deceptively soft. Large flat screens were situated on the front walls adjacent to the stewardess' cabin. They took their seats, with Edie and Brianna chattering away excitedly on one side while John and Sherlock took seats on the other side of the narrow aisle.

Just then, a tall statuesque woman appeared from behind the small curtain and graced them all with a smile. "Hello there! My name is Greta and I will be servicing you on our flight today. If there is absolutely anything you need, just let me know. We will be taking off shortly so please fasten your seat belt and make sure your seat back and folding trays are in their full upright position. At this time, we request that all mobile phones be turned off for the full duration of the flight, as these items might interfere with the navigational and communication equipment on this aircraft. We request that all other electronic devices be turned off until we fly above 10,000 feet. We will notify you when it is safe to use such devices." The passengers all reached to follow her instructions as she continued on. "If you have any questions about our flight today, please don't hesitate to ask. Thank you."

When she was finished, she walked over to the open door and pulled it shut, then turned the lock to seal it completely. With another smile, she disappeared through the curtain. Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet began to vibrate as the engines roared to life. John couldn't help feeling excited and it easily showed on his face. Sherlock noticed.

"Have you never been on a flight before?" he asked.

"Only when I was in the Army, but it was nothing as posh as this." He glanced at Sherlock and lowered his voice. "I guess having a brother with his kind of connections can have its advantages."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"You know, if you two keep this up I'm going to become rather spoiled." John joked.

Sherlock grasped John's hand, and then leaned over to gently kiss him on the lips. "John, I've never had anyone in my life that I've ever wanted to 'spoil', as you put it. But now that I've got you, I think I may become rather fond of the practice."

John was touched by Sherlock's words. He gently squeezed the hand that held his. "Sherlock I was only joking. I don't need all this in my life. As long as I've got you, I'll be satisfied." They shared a look for a moment, and then leaned in to share another kiss. Before they could lose themselves completely, they were reminded that they weren't exactly alone when the quiet sound of '_Awww_' could be heard. They both looked over and saw that they indeed had an audience. Brianna and Edie were both watching them, their faces wreathed in joy.

"You were right Mom." Brianna stated, making sure she was just loud enough to be heard. "They are absolutely adorable together!" Sherlock just groaned to himself as John turned an interesting shade of scarlet.

Soon after, they heard the announcement over the loudspeaker overhead.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Colin Berkimshire and I'll be your Captain today. On behalf of myself and the entire crew, __welcome aboard__. Our flight is nonstop from London Heathrow Airport to Dublin Airport in Dublin Ireland. Our flight time is estimated to be approximately one hour and 20 minutes and we will be traveling at an altitude of 16,000 feet. Cabin crew, please prepare for Gate Departure. Enjoy your flight!"_

Edie squealed in delight. "Dublin! We're going to Dublin! It's been ages since I've been able to visit home!" Sherlock leaned towards John once again.

"It seems that Mycroft chose our destination well."

"I've never been to Ireland before but I've always wanted to go! I believe I just may be more excited than she is!" John said. "Have you been there before?"

"Once or twice." Sherlock responded nonchalantly. "There's always a case where travel is necessary."

"Well then, I expect you to play tour guide. I want to see everything!"

"As you wish."

The plane began to taxi down the runway, picking up speed. Soon, they felt the nose of the plane angle upwards as they were all pushed slightly into their chairs while making their ascent. Eventually it leveled off and they were flying high above the clouds. Once again, a voice was heard over the loudspeaker.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned off the __Fasten Seat Belt sign__, and you may now move around the cabin. However we always recommend you keep your seat belt fastened while you're seated. In a few moments, the cabin crew will be passing around the cabin to offer you hot or cold __drinks__, as well as a light meal. Alcoholic drinks are also available with our compliments. Now sit back, relax, and __enjoy the flight__. Thank you."_

On cue, Greta appeared and did just that. John and Sherlock each accepted a small glass of Whiskey over ice. Brianna chose a glass of white wine. Edie was satisfied with a cup of tea.

"If this is the sort of perks that you get solving crimes Mr. Holmes, I think I may be in the wrong line of work!" Edie said pleasantly. Sherlock scoffed good-naturedly.

"Believe me, it isn't always like this. John and I were lucky this time. Most of our victims don't get the ending you were fortunate to have." He watched as Brianna looked at her mother wistfully, as she knew the truth of what he spoke. "But I must say Edie, you were absolutely remarkable. How on earth did you manage to escape Gillian?"

Brianna looked startled. "So you actually know the person responsible for kidnapping my mother?" Before Sherlock could say a word, Edie answered the question for her.

"He knew her for quite a while actually." Her response earned shocked looks from all three of them.

"And how on earth did you know that?" John asked. "Sherlock only just told me yesterday who she was."

The passengers sat quietly and listened as Edie told them everything she had learned and done during her capture. Sherlock could see John's jaw tighten with anger with each passing minute. He knew that he was possessive of John, and was secretly thrilled to see that John shared the same feeling. His thoughts were interrupted when John spoke.

"Well I for one am glad you managed to give that psychotic bitch what she had coming to her. Almost killing me was bad enough, but doing it because she wanted to get closer to Sherlock? I would have enjoyed putting a bullet into her!"

"A man in love, if I've ever heard one." Brianna remarked with a smile.

They spent the remainder of their flight engrossed in conversation. John went on to relate some of their adventures together and the women listened with rapt attention. Then Edie began telling them of some of the local lore from her hometown and made several suggestions of places that they absolutely must visit. Apparently it was also the time of the year when a large festival was held in Wicklow, so they all agreed to attend together.

Sherlock watched out the window next to his seat, actually feeling content with the conversations swirling around him. He still couldn't get it out of his head just how close he had come to losing John. It had been his biggest fear and it almost came to pass. He had refrained from turning into a complete mess when he was finally reunited with John in hospital but he still wanted to find a way to express to John just how thankful he was that he was still with him. Even more, he wanted to show John that he truly was in it for as long as John could put up with him. An idea slowly formed in his head and he couldn't help but smile to himself as he constructed the details in his mind. He would need a little help though. He silently assured himself that as soon as they landed, he would find a moment alone to contact Mycroft.

His brother had offered his help should he ever need it, and he was going to take him up on his offer. After all, he wanted it to be absolutely perfect. John didn't deserve anything less.


	24. Emerald Isle

The plane landed smoothly as the afternoon sun shone brightly. The passengers still chattered happily as they had all become fast friends on the flight. As they filed one by one down the steps they were met again by a waiting vehicle. After safely stowing away the ladies' luggage they climbed inside, eager to see where they would be taken.

As they rode through the streets, John took in the scenery surrounding them with a goofy grin on his face. Sherlock was happy to see John so carefree for once and promised himself that he would make sure John would see and do everything his heart desired. Edie was still going on about the places she had used to visit in the area, but Sherlock had her halfway tuned out. He undoubtedly knew more than she did about the local history, but he also knew that it would probably upset John if corrected her so he remained silent. Besides, he still had a surprise to plan.

Their ride was a short one, only about 20 minutes or so. Eventually they pulled up in front of an impressive Victorian-style 2 story house with a warm brick façade and white trim. Rounded bay windows graced almost every corner of the house, and the gardens surrounding the house gave the property a splash of color in every direction. Everything looked so meticulously kept that even the black wrought iron fence around the house seemed to sparkle in the light.

As they pulled up, a middle-aged woman came out to greet them. Her hair was jet black and pulled back in a tight bun with a few silver streaks that fluttered freely in the warm breeze, highlighting her eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief. She waited patiently for them to exit the vehicle then greeted them warmly, her thick accent dripping over her words like honey.

"Welcome! My name is Meredith, and I'd like to welcome ye to Oaklodge! I must say it's a great honour te have the likes of Sherlock Homes and Dr. Watson staying in me humble establishment!" She then turned to Edie and Brianna. "I must say, you gentlemen certainly have some bonnie lasses traveling with ye!"

Brianna lit up at the compliment while Edie only laughed. "Well I think I'm a little old to be considered a lass, but I'll accept the compliment anyway. Your place is just lovely!"

"Ay it is! My late husband Gareth was especially proud of this place. He's always said that the magic was in the details. Ye see all th' flowers 'round th' place? He planted each one by hand, he did. I'll be happy te give ye a tour 'round the grounds later, but I've a meal prepared fer your arrival. I'll send someone to collect yer bags and bring them te yer rooms. Come have a wash and I'll see ye in the dining room."

She turned and headed back into the house, her posture making it known that she was used to being obeyed. They followed her inside and took in the wonderful décor. The house retained most of its original Victorian features, with only the most necessary modernizations throughout. Antique furniture was placed throughout the rooms and each room still boasted the original chandeliers, still shining as if they were brand new. Sturdy beams criss-crossed the vaulted ceilings, further accentuating the home's Old World Charm. The finishing touch, however, was the monstrous fireplace that sat front and center of the dining room. Measuring at least 6ft wide, it was beautifully decorated with ivy and fresh flowers. Fresh flowers also graced the massive solid wood table that could easily sit 10, and was perched on a beautiful rug that brought out every other color in the room. In short, it was stunning.

"It's like being in a fairy tale!" Brianna remarked.

After being shown where to wash up, the ladies headed in that direction while John and Sherlock went ahead and took places at the table. Soon they were all seated. Just then Meredith entered carrying 2 baskets and set them down on the table. "Here is some freshly baked bread for ye, while I serve up the dishes. I'll only be a minute!" she promised, then hurried back towards the kitchen. They each took turns selecting a slice and spreading them with the selection of jams and jellies that sat around the centerpiece. John bit into his slice rather enthusiastically and almost sighed in delight.

"This is the best jam I've ever tasted!" He broke off a piece and held it towards Sherlock. "You have to try this!"

Sherlock just smiled. "Judging by the amount of jam you have smudged around your mouth, I believe I leave it to you to enjoy. Besides, Strawberry is your favorite, not mine."

"Suit yourself." he said happily, popping the piece into his mouth.

Meredith entered again, this time followed by a young man. They each carried 2 steaming bowls and they set them in front of each of their guests. "This laddie here is named Brice. He attends the local university but helps me in his free time. I'm sure you'll be seeing him puttering around the grounds during yer stay here. If there's anything ye need, Brice will make sure ye get it." The young man nodded a greeting towards Brianna and Edie but it wasn't until he got a closer look at John and Sherlock that recognition set in.

"Blimey! It's that famous detective from London, Sherlock Homes!" he exclaimed. He then turned towards John. "And you must be John Watson! Oh it's a real honor sir! I'm a big fan of your blog! My friends and I read it all the time."

John grinned. "Well it's always nice to meet a fan I suppose. Tell me, what are you studying at University?"

"Chemistry, mostly."

"That certainly sounds challenging."

"Oh, he's a lad on a mission, he is!" Meredith interjected. "Lost his poor mum a few years back to cancer so he's made it his goal to find a cure. He's always been such a help te me over the years so I've taken it upon m'self to look after him. Mark my words, he's gonna save th' world!"

When Brice mentioned Chemistry, Sherlock instantly focused his attention on him. "And how are you doing in your studies?" he asked.

"Alright, I suppose. I've been so busy helping Ms. Meredith with a little problem out back that I haven't been really hitting the books like I should have." His remark earned him a slap on the shoulder from Meredith. "Dinna be blaming me for lacking in yer studies!" she said.

Brianna hid her grin behind her hand then asked, "What problem could you possibly be having in a place as beautiful as this?"

"Bees." Brice answered. "There are a few hives that seemed to have taken over the back gardens and I've been trying to find a way to get rid of them but I'm having more luck getting stung than moving them."

That really got Sherlock's attention, but he tried not to let it show. He had always had a secret passion for studying bees but never got much chance to while in London. He saw this as a Golden Opportunity that he couldn't let pass him by.

"I know a few tricks that may help you out." he offered. "And I also happen to be a Graduate Chemist myself."

"When you're not blowing things up in the kitchen!" John giggled. Sherlock shot him a look that promised his retribution later. John just ignored it.

"I'm going to make you a deal." Sherlock continued. "One afternoon during our stay while everyone is resting, I'll go out back with you and offer my assistance. However, while doing so, I will drill you on your lessons. How does that sound?"

Brice's face would surely split in two if he smiled any wider. "Yes sir! Thank you sir!" he gushed. "Blimey! My friends will never believe me when I tell them!"

"Alright, lad, that's enough. I'm sure there is something ye could be doing at te moment. Let's leave our lovely guests te enjoy their meal in peace." Meredith interrupted. Brice thanked Sherlock one more time before he headed back into the kitchen.

"He gets excited so easily." Edie remarked. "But he seems like a fine young man."

"That he is." Meredith agreed. "It's a shame what he's been through, but I think it only makes him work harder."

"Nothing wrong with that." John said. "It's a shame about his mother, but it seems to be the motivation he needs."

"Absolutely. Now, are ye gonna just jabber away all day, or are ye gonna eat before it gets cold?" Meredith lightly scolded, although she did so with a smile. They all begin to dig in, although John noticed that Sherlock wasn't eating as much as the rest of them. He was happy to see him eating at all, so he kept his observation to himself.

After a few bites, Brianna couldn't help but exclaim "This is simply delicious! What is it?"

Meredith beamed with pride as she explained, "Tis nothing but good solid Irish food, lass. It's called Dublin Coddle and its me own mother's recipe."

"It tastes like it would have taken you all day to prepare." Edie added.

"Pish no! It's just potatoes, onions, a wee bit of pork sausage and bacon, and a bit of parsley that I grew m'self in the garden. My mother was fond of growing her own herbs and taught me te do the same. Now, let me get ye something to wash it all down with."

She walked back to the kitchen and returned with 4 icy bottles of Guinness. "Here ye go!" she said as she set one down in front of each of them. Brianna, John and Sherlock wasted no time taking a sip, but Edie just eyed her own bottle.

"I'm not really much of a drinker." she confessed. "Would you happen to have simpler, like tea or coffee perhaps?"

"Aye, I'm sure I can rustle ye up something." Meredith said.

Brianna just nudged her mom. "Aw c'mon mum! It's a holiday! You know the saying. When in Rome….." she gently prodded.

Edie glanced at her daughter for a moment longer, and then sighed. "Alright then. But if I get a little tipsy, then it's going to be your job to look after me!" Brianna grinned.

"That's the spirit!" John said, raising his bottle in salute.

They finished their meal then were promptly shown to their rooms upstairs. Edie and Brianna had a room at one end of the hallway, with John and Sherlock sharing another room at the other end.

As soon as the door closed behind them, John toed off his shoes and went over to flop himself on the large bed that seemed to dominate the room.

"This is amazing! I can't believe that we're actually here." he said while stifling a yawn. Sherlock smiled.

"You seem to still be a little tired John. Dr. Hawthorne said you should rest often so I insist on it as well." Sherlock said. John looked at Sherlock and patted the space next to him on the bed.

"Care to join me?"

Sherlock walked over and perched himself next to John. He leaned over and gave John a kiss. "As appealing as that sounds, you know I don't sleep much. But that shouldn't stop you from doing so. You go ahead and rest. I'll go back downstairs and talk with Meredith about some of the local attractions, then later this evening we can go out, maybe have a drink, and explore a bit. Sound good?"

"Sounds great." John agreed. He rolled over to make himself comfortable as Sherlock walked to towards the door. As he reached the door, John called out to him. "Don't be too long. You wouldn't want me to have to come and find you." he joked.

"Heaven forbid." Sherlock replied then walked out the door, closing it gently behind him. He pulled out his mobile as he walked down the hallway and down the stairs. He quickly sent a text.

I need your assistance. – SH

The reply was almost instant.

Don't tell me that you've gotten into trouble already. – MH

Of course not. But I wouldn't rule it out completely. We will be here for a week. – SH

Keep in mind that my influence only reaches so far. – MH

Modesty isn't something you exhibit very well. – SH

I happen to be occupied at the moment Sherlock, so please make it quick. – MH

Eating more cake? I thought you had been doing so well on your diet. – SH

If it's any of your concern, I happen to be entertaining an important head of state. So either tell me, or I shall have to save this conversation until another time. – MH

Sherlock quickly typed a short paragraph, outlining his idea. After a few moments, the response came.

Very well. I'll make whatever arrangements you wish me to make. Just please be sure you know what you're doing. – MH

Sherlock smiled to himself and went in search of Meredith. Perhaps she would know just the place for such an occasion.


	25. A Step Closer

Sherlock found his way towards the back gardens of the house and looked around. He usually wasn't one to notice such things but he had to admit that the grounds had an appealing picturesque quality to it. The sun was pleasant and breeze carried with it the scent of countless flowers. He stood still for a moment, soaking in the warmth of the sun and listening to the gentle humming of bees coming from somewhere in the distance. He decided to follow the sound for a bit, hoping to perhaps come across a small hive that he could observe. He walked a few steps then heard a rustling to his right. He turned to see Meredith kneeling by a patch of flowers with a large basket sitting on the ground beside her. He approached her, making sure that his shoes made enough clatter on the small pathway so that he didn't startle her. He reached her just as she went to stand up.

"Can I offer you a hand up?" he asked, extending his own. She took it with a smile. After she got to her feet, she reached down and placed her small pair of pruning shears in the basket, which was now teaming with colorful blossoms.

"Thank ye lad. It's nice te see a young man with good manners. Dinna see it much anymore."

Sherlock just chuckled to himself before replying. "It's nice of you to say so, but there aren't many who would agree with you."

"Ay, I suppose so. I've read the papers too ye know. I know the reputation ye have. But I have a way of reading people, and I think ye are more kind than ye want people to know." She laughed at the startled expression Sherlock wore then said, "Dinna worry….yer secret is safe with me."

"Er….thank you." Sherlock said, not sure what else to say to that. As Meredith reached down to pick up her basket of collected blooms he continued. "I've actually come to ask you for some information." She turned to look at him with an arched eyebrow.

"And what would that be?"

"Just some recommendations of the local area. Places to visit and such. John and I will probably head to a pub later this evening but I want to make sure we don't go anywhere swarthy."

"Oh is that all? Ay, I can tell ye which directions to take. But I wouldna' go t'night." She pointed towards the sky. "I can feel it in me bones. Tis gonna shower tonight. Wait until morning and everything will be fresh. No better way to see Dublin, iffen ye ask me."

"Alright then."

"Is it just pubs ye after?"

"Actually we will be needing to visit some shops as well. Neither John or myself came with any clothing or toiletries."

"That's no problem then. I can send ye in the directions of a few shops that may have just what ye need." As she spoke to Sherlock, she noticed a look on his face like he wanted to ask something else but was hesitant to do so. She didn't want to seem like she was prying, but curiosity got the best of her. "You alright lad? Something on yer mind?"

Sherlock started to reply then stopped himself. He tried again but still hesitated. Meredith noticed and tried to put his mind at ease. "Whatever it is, ye can trust me to keep to me trap shut." She assured him.

Sherlock chuckled lightly at her words. "I need a…..specialty shop."

"Ok. Want te be more specific, or should I just close me eyes and point?"

Sherlock sighed lightly and decided to just get on with it. "I need a jewelry shop." Meredith's eyes lit up with delight.

"Oh how wonderful! Going te buy something for that bonnie lass that's with ye? I know just the place!"

"Actually it's not for Brianna."

A look of surprise settled on Meredith's face. "Her mother, then? I must say I'm surprised but I've seen stranger things. Follow yer heart, I've always said."

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "That's exactly what I plan to do. But no, it's not for Edie either." He watched as Meredith went from surprised to confused.

"Then for who? All that's left….with ye….is…." she stopped as realization set in. She stared at Sherlock for a moment to see if he was serious, and the deadpan look on his face only confirmed it.

"Well I'll be!" she said with a smile. "I could tell the two if ye were close, but I never would have guessed. All te same, the heart wants what te heart wants."

"Yes, well it came as a surprise to me as well. I had never expected it to happen."

"And that's usually when it does, lad."

"So I've learned. So you can help me?"

"Ay! I can do better than that. Come with me."

She turned and walked towards the house with Sherlock behind her. They entered through a small side door that opened into the kitchen. Setting her basket down on a small table, she walked into another small door that led to a quaint but tidy office. She opened a small book and looked through the pages until she found the information she was looking for. She then reached for her phone and dialed a number. After a moment, he could hear a man answer the line.

"Duncan! It's Meredith. How ye doing?" Pause. "Good te hear. Listen te me. I've got a special one fer ye." Pause. "No it isna like te other one. Pox rot that one. She got what was coming te her, if ye ask me." Pause. "Anyway, I'm asking as a special favor te me on this one. He needs something special, and dinna go about giving him the boot in a price. Trust me when I say, ye make good on this one, it will do ye good." Pause. "Good. When should I send him?" Pause. "Alright. I'll make sure he's there. Thank ye Duncan." She hung up and looked at Sherlock. "Well that's settled."

"Judging from your tone, I take it know the shop owner well?" Sherlock asked. The twinkle in her eye was all the answer he needed.

"Ye could say that. Duncan is an…old friend, and one of the few remaining craftsman left in te area. Most people today go te these fancy shops and pay good money fer things that are just copies of each other. No artistry anymore! If he doesn't have what ye looking fer, he can custom anything."

"Thus the recommendation?"

"Ay, partly. In truth, there are still some people 'round here who aren't tolerant of such things." She answered, gesturing with her hands. Sherlock knew exactly what she meant. "Duncan, however, takes such pride in his work, he dinna care who it's for."

Sherlock nodded in understanding. "I thank you. When is he expecting me?"

"His shop usually opens at 10 of te morn. But he said ye can go about 8. He's going in te take care of a few repairs and said ye are welcome te come see what he has. Can ye be up and about that early?"

Sherlock smiled. "I don't see that being a problem."

"What about him?" Meredith asked, pointing upstairs. "I'm sure that I can find something te occupy him until ye return, iffen we wakes while ye are gone."

Sherlock's smile only got wider. "You won't have to worry about John. After what I have planned for us tonight, he won't wake up until well after I've returned." He paused for a moment, thinking, then asked "Is there a clothing shop fairly close by? We still need a few of the basics before we can go out properly."

Meredith nodded. "About 2 blocks to te south there is a shop called McAlpin's. They have clothing and other things. Try there."

Sherlock thanked her for all her help and set off.

….

An hour or so later he let himself quietly into their room, in case John was still sleeping, which he was. He was carrying several shopping bags which he proceeded to unload into the wardrobe. He purchased 2 pair of jeans that he knew would fit John perfectly, as well as a few t-shirts and a jumper that he was sure John would love. Or rather, one that he would love to see John in. It was the soft oatmeal color that John seemed to favor but it had cobalt blue stitching that Sherlock was sure would set off those blue eyes that he loved so much. He also bought him some pajama bottoms for when they were relaxing together, a pair of casual shoes, and a military style jacket. When he reached the bottom of the bag that held the clothes he purchased for John, he pulled out the final pieces and quickly put them away. He had never had to purchase underthings for another man before and found that he was slightly apprehensive about what he had purchased. He knew what style John preferred but had spent some time deciding what color John would like best. He knew that he was choosy with his own, and wanted to show the same discernment in choosing John's. He had come across a red pair that he couldn't resist, so he bought them along with a few others.

Once that was finished, he began unpacking the bag that held the clothes he purchased for himself. The shop didn't have any of the suits he usually preferred, so he settled for things more casual until he could get to a shop downtown. He bought himself a pair of jeans, as well as a pair of leather boots and a matching leather jacket. It wasn't his usual style but he liked it for some reason. He also bought some pajama bottoms as well as another housecoat for relaxing in. Instead of t-shirts, he bought himself a few button down shirts. He knew John liked him in them, so that settled that. He brought the final small bag into the bathroom and began to unpack the essentials: toothbrushes, toothpaste, hairbrushes, hair product, razors and shaving foam, aftershave, shampoo, body wash, and deodorant. He was surprised to have found a bottle of cologne that John favored so he had purchased that as well. Once that was all put away, he walked back into the room and put the last item he purchased on a whim on a table. If they were in for a rainy night tonight, he had a feeling it would come in handy.

He walked over to where John was sleeping and sat beside him. He watched him for a few moments, torn between waking him and finding something to occupy himself until he wakes on his own. Another moment passed before he decided that he wanted to spend time with him, so John would just have to forgive him for being selfish. Besides, it was almost time for dinner and he knew that John would want to shower first.

He placed a hand on John's shoulder gently and spoke to him. "John?" John's only response was a soft snore. Sherlock smiled to himself, then spoke slightly louder. "John?" John response this time was a loud grunt, which caused Sherlock to laugh outright. "Come on, John. Wake up. It will be time for dinner soon."

John yawned then stretched his arms over his head. "How long did I sleep?" he asked sleepily.

"Almost 3 hours." Sherlock replied. At that, John's eyes snapped open.

"What?! Geez, why didn't you wake me Sherlock?" he asked.

"I didn't want to disturb you. You needed your rest."

"Now you're starting to sound like me." John chuckled.

"They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

John smiled, then sat up, propping himself against the headboard with his pillow. Sleep hadn't left him completely, so he was still heavy lidded and yawned again. "Then maybe you'll listen to me more when I tell you that YOU need your rest, yeah?"

"No promises."

"Of course not." John rubbed his eyes. "So what did you do while I slept?"

"I went shopping."

John stared at him, completely dumbfounded. "YOU? You went shopping?" he asked incredusly. "I must still be dreaming!"

"John, we needed necessities, and seeing as how you don't have a habit of sleepwalking it fell to me to get what we needed."

John still looked skeptical. "This I have to see." Sherlock gestured towards the wardrobe.

"Help yourself."

John stretched one more time before climbing out of bed and padding softly to the wardrobe. He opened the doors and his eyes widened as he saw everything that Sherlock purchased. He took out the Military jacket Sherlock had purchased and turned around to look at him.

"This is….incredible."

"I thought you would like it."

"I love it." He immediately slipped it on and found that it fit him perfectly. He hugged him in all the right places, outlining his strong shoulders. "How did you guess my size so accurately?"

"We've lived together for over a year. I think I've had more than enough time to observe any and all details about you."

"Coming from anyone else, that would almost sound creepy." He laughed. He looked through the remaining items, surprised at how well Sherlock had guessed what he would like, although he shouldn't be. Sherlock knew him better than anyone, and this only proved it. His gaze fell on the leather jacket, which he instantly pulled out. "This is yours?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just that I've never seen you in anything but your Belstaff coat. I almost can't imagine you in anything else."

"Well, when we go out, you won't have to imagine. I can show you."

"Can't wait." He replied with a grin. "Alright then. I guess I should take a shower before dinner." Sherlock watched him as he collected a few items, then paused as he found the bright red pants Sherlock had purchased. "Um….Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

He held up the red pants. "Care to explain?" he asked, fighting his giggles.

Sherlock shrugged. "You needed them. I bought them."

"But RED?"

"Why not? They'll still serve their purpose." He said neutrally. He wasn't going to admit out loud that he got the red because he wanted to see John in them. But all John needed was to look at Sherlock to know the truth.

"Alright. Red it is then." he said. He finished gathering what he needed and headed towards the bathroom. "I won't be but a few." He called.

"Take your time John."

Sherlock heard the shower running as soon as John closed the door behind him. He got up and walked over to the window that overlooked the gardens below. He still had a million things running through his mind. The most important thing would be taken care of tomorrow when he went to visit Duncan. All that was left was the details. He remembered what Meredith had said when they had first arrived. She had quoted her late husband as saying 'The magic was in the details.'

It was an interesting theory, and he wasn't one to let a theory go untested. He just hoped he got the results he hoped for.


	26. Two for the Price of One

About 20 minutes later John exited the bathroom looking refreshed and almost himself again. Sherlock smiled at the sight. He watched silently as John put away the clothes he had taken off, memorizing every movement. He was still slower than usual but his progress was nonetheless remarkable. He approached John while he still had his back turned, coming to stand just behind him. John turned around and nearly jumped 10 feet.

"Geez Sherlock! Are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack?" he asked.

"Given your current condition, I don't think that would be the wisest course of action." Sherlock replied. John shook his head.

"Smartass."

"Takes one to know one." he retorted with a smirk. "In any case, I believe it's time we made our way downstairs for dinner."

"Great! I'm starving!" John said. "Lunch was amazing so I'm looking forward to see what we get for dinner."

They walked together downstairs and entered the dining room. They noticed that 2 places had already been set out for them but didn't see anything set out for Edie and Brianna. When Meredith entered a few minutes later with their food, John inquired about their whereabouts. Meredith informed them that while Sherlock was out shopping, Edie got in contact with some family members in the next town so they were off to visit them for a day or two.

"Ye got the entire house to yourselves boys!" she added with a smile before retreating into the kitchen once again. They ate their food while discussing what they should do afterwards.

"Feel like doing a little sight-seeing?" John asked. Sherlock thought about what Meredith said earlier about inclement weather coming and weighed that against making John happy. It was no contest.

"I'm up for a walk if you are. I'll get changed then we can go." Sherlock replied, immediately standing up from the table.

"At least finish your food Sherlock!"

"I've eaten more today than I usually would so I think I'll be just fine." he said, then made his way back upstairs. John remained at the table and savored the remainder of his meal. When he was finished, he gathered both his and Sherlock's plates and brought them into the kitchen.

"Dearie me, what are ye doing?" Meredith exclaimed when she saw what John had done. "You are not te be doing such things while ye are here! Tis my job!"

John chucked. "Sorry. I guess it's just a force of habit. I'm usually the one who does the tidying up back home."

"Mr. Holmes doesn't help at all?" she asked. "Dinna seem very fair te ye."

"I don't think 'fairness' has anything to do with it. He just doesn't bother himself with anything he considers boring. It's alright; I've gotten used to it."

"Well iffen it don't bother ye, who am I te say anything?" Meredith grinned. After some protesting, she finally relented and allowed John to help her in the kitchen. She decided to take the opportunity to learn more about these two.

"It must be exciting, doing what the two of ye do." She remarked.

"That's one word for it I guess. The danger is certainly real enough." he said, unconsciously flexing his right hand that was still lightly wrapped in bandages. "We've gotten into more scrapes than I care to remember and there have been many times that I thought that one of us was going to end up dead."

"Then I guess it's good ye got each other to look for yourselves."

"Ta. But then again, there have been times where Sherlock was the one to get us into trouble in the first place, and I was the one to get us out."

"That's usually te way of it with best friends." She said lightly, watching John's reaction carefully. She wasn't disappointed. A small flush creeped over John's face and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, as if his smile was a secret. "Ahh laddie, I know that look." She said. "Best friends, with a wee something more, yeah?" John's blush intensified.

"It is now, although I could kick myself for not seeing it sooner." John replied. "I can't believe I was that much of an idiot."

"What about him? Did it take him long as well?"

"No."

"And he never told ye anything?"

"Not a word, the sodding bastard. He had always said that he thought relationships were nonsense, so how was I to know?"

"Sounds like he was just being defensive. Perhaps he was still figuring things out fer himself as well."

Her words brought him back to when Sherlock was in the hospital for his overdose and he finally admitted the truth about his feelings. Sherlock _had _admitted that he was hesitant to reveal himself for some time, and only did so when John came forward first. It was the only time he could remember Sherlock being afraid of _anything_.

Then a realization hit John in the pit of his stomach.

Fear. Sherlock's biggest fear. Their conversation that day came rushing back to him.

***flashback***

"_I lashed out at you, out of fear."_

"_Fear of what, Sherlock?"_

"_Fear of you."_

"_Why would you be afraid of me?"_

"_Of us! Of what we could be….and what could happen because of it….I don't deserve you….If I couldn't take care of myself, how the hell was I supposed to be able to look after you….All it would take would be ONE mistake John….and you could end up hurt….or worse….and it would be all my fault….I couldn't live with that thought…."_

***end flashback***

John paled slightly as he remembered the look on Sherlock's face as he confessed everything. It tore him apart then, and it did so even now. Everything that John had been through the last day or so was Sherlock's biggest fear come to life. He mentally kicked himself in the ass for not seeing it sooner.

"Dr. Watson? Are ye ok?" Meredith asked, bringing him out of his flashback.  
John blinked at her.

"Yeah. I'm fine." he said absently, when he felt anything but.

"Ye dinna look fine." she remarked.

John sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm just feeling like an utter ass at the moment."

"Happens te the best of us." Meredith said kindly.

All John wanted to do was run upstairs and confront Sherlock, but he knew that trying to force him to talk about anything was useless. He wouldn't say anything about it unless he really wanted to. Oh, he had his moments when he was unusually sentimental but for the most part, Sherlock remained the same: stubborn and willful. He smiled to himself as he remembered one of those rare sentimental evenings, which eventually led to them being together for the first time. It was a memory that would stay with him always.

He tried to think of a way to put Sherlock's mind at ease. He decided that Sherlock was going to be too stubborn to want to talk everything out, so he would have to do this on his own. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything. He needed help. He looked at Meredith.

"Can I ask you something? It's a mite personal."

"Ask away laddie."

"When your husband was alive…."

"Gareth." she interjected.

"Gareth, right. When he was alive did the two of you ever get to a point where there was an argument or something between the two of you, but neither of you wanted to be the one to talk about it?"

"Ay lad, but every relationship gets that way sometimes." She raised an eyebrow. "Dinna tell me that yer having a problem already?"

"Nothing that I'm not used to." he laughed. "Let's just say that I'm more comfortable having certain conversations than he is. There are some things that I feel need to be said at the moment, but he's not the type to…." he paused, trying to put his thoughts into words.

"He dinna want to talk 'hearts and flowers' all te time?" she asked.

John sighed in relief. "Yes! Exactly! Don't get me wrong….he has his moments. But for the most part…."

"I understand completely. Yer solution is simple. If ye can't tell him what ye wanna say, then show him. Te Good Book said it best: Actions speak louder than words."

John absorbed that for a moment then broke into a huge smile. Of course she was right. He had to do something to put Sherlock's fear to rest, to let him know that everything was going to be alright, and that no matter what John wasn't going anywhere.

And John knew only one way to do just that.

He looked at Meredith again and smiled. "I think I know what I'm going to do. It's going to be big, so if it's not too much trouble I may need your help."

Meredith did all she could to hide the grin that was threatening to consume her face. She was sure she knew where this was going, and if she was right, she knew the next few days around here were going to be very interesting.

"I'll do what I can laddie." She said as neutrally as possible. "Just tell me what ye need."

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked Meredith in the eyes and said, "Know where I can find a good jewelry shop?" She couldn't fight her grin any longer. John saw it and he grinned right along with her.

"Ay! I know just the place! Wait right here!" she said, then scuttled off through another door in the kitchen. Within moments, she returned with a card in her hand, which she handed to John. "Tis an old friend of mine named Duncan. Best craftsman around here. I can set ye up with him, say tomorrow afternoon? Bring the card with ye, so he'll know I sent ye."

John eyed the card in gratitude. "That would be great, thanks. Now to figure out a way to pop out without Sherlock suspecting anything."

"Dinna worry yerself about that. I'm sure I can find something to keep him occupied." She said, waving off his worry.

"Are you sure? It might be more difficult than you think."

"He promised Brice a little help, he did. I'll just make sure Brice needs it when ye are ready to go."

John leaned in and gave Meredith a peck on the cheek. "You're an Angel. I cannot thank you enough."

Meredith just patted John's cheek like he still a small boy. "Dinna thank me. It warms me heart to see someone so obviously in love like ye are." Their conversation was cut short by the sound of footsteps coming back into the dining room. They looked at each other and nodded, then proceeded to walk back into the dining room together. John knew it was Sherlock, but the sight of him still stopped him in his tracks.

He was so used to seeing him in those expertly tailored suits that seeing him now made his mouth go dry. Sherlock was wearing a pair of jeans that fit him so snugly that every inch of his long legs were outlined, from his firm calves to his perfectly sculpted bum. His button down shirt was a dark charcoal with buttons that were straining to be released. Add to that the black boots and leather jacket that molded to him like a second skin, and Sherlock looked like every girl's bad-boy fantasy brought to life. He watched as Sherlock strode up to him, and for a minute he felt his entire mind go blank to everything but lust. He looked down for a moment at his own jeans, hoping that he wasn't giving himself away, and found that he was beginning to fail miserably.

"Ready to go John?" he asked, that deep baritone voice doing nothing but add to his already overloaded senses. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded. Sherlock smirked, knowing full well just what was going on. John cleared his throat and did his best to straighten up and walk like nothing was wrong with him. Sherlock followed, chuckling to himself. If this was John's reaction to leather, perhaps he should invest in a few more items.

As they stepped out the front door, Sherlock turned to John and asked, "So what did you and Meredith talk about while I was upstairs?"

John froze for a moment, but hoped he recovered before Sherlock noticed. "Oh, um, she was just, um, recommending a few places that we could visit." he said, trying to keep voice from shaking.

"Really? I've got a few recommendations from her myself." Sherlock replied. His heart beat slightly faster as he thought about where he would be going in the morning. "Alright then. Off we go?"

"Yeah."

They walked down the short driveway and through the front gate. Meredith was silently watching them through a window, and smiled when she saw them holding hands as they turned down the street. She just shook her head.

The next few days will be VERY interesting.


	27. Good Night Out but BETTER Night In!

**A/N: My darlings, please accept my sincerest apologies at the delay in continuing my fic. A close member of my family was just diagnosed with Stage 3 Cancer so I've been spending a lot of time with my family. I will try to resume posting on a regular basis. Thanks for sticking with me, and any prayers are greatly appreciated!**

***Penguin**

**Also: SMUT WARNING! (It's not filth, but definitely R rated!)**

John and Sherlock spent a pleasant evening together. They walked the streets looking through the windows of the many shops and even entered a few. At one point they entered a bookstore where Sherlock purchased several medical journals, while John picked out a few detective novels. When Sherlock saw what he had chosen, he raised an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that!" John said. "Consider it practice for me. I want to see if I can solve the mystery before I reach the end." Sherlock merely shook his head and handed the clerk Mycroft's card to pay for the items.

They had walked a few more blocks when the weather decided to become inclement so they ducked into a pub until it let up. They sat at a small table in the back and watched the flow of people enter and leave. Sherlock kept John entertained by deducing each person that John pointed out, and by their 3rd round of drinks he had John in a fit of giggles that he couldn't seem to recover from. When John offered to get another round, Sherlock declined and suggested that John do the same. After all, he was still recovering from his ordeal and he didn't want to see John overdo himself. John reluctantly agreed.

Once the weather cleared up enough for them to walk back to the B &amp; B, they made their way quickly so as not to be caught in it again. The reached the house just in time, for as soon as they closed the door behind them, the heavens opened up and the downpour was immense. Meredith heard the door close and called out to them. "Is that ye boys?"

"Yes Meredith." John answered. "And not a minute too soon. It's really pouring outside."

Meredith come walking around from a side room and sternly pointed a finger at Sherlock. "See? Dinna I tell ye that the weather would turn nasty on ye? That's all th' poor laddie needs, te catch a cold! Now scuttle on upstairs and I'll bring ye some tea before I retire for th' night."

John thanked her and did what he was told. Sherlock followed him upstairs with a grim look on his face. When they finally entered their room, John turned around and saw Sherlock's look…..and promptly burst into laughter. Sherlock just continued to pout.

"What is the matter with you?" he asked.

"She could give Mrs. Hudson a run for the money." He grumbled. "Bossy little thing, isn't she?"

"Look who's talking!" John exclaimed. "You would take over running all of London if given the chance!"

"Well can I help it if London is run by mindless morons who are more worried about useless politics than actually RUNNING the city?"

"Don't forget that your brother runs that government and its politics…."

"I rest my case John."

John just simply shook his head and decided to give up the conversation. He quickly changed into some pajama bottoms and a loose t-shirt, and Sherlock did the same while also throwing on the housecoat that he purchased. As soon as they were finished they heard a knock on the door. Sherlock was closest to the door so he reached over and opened it, allowing Meredith to enter while carrying a tray holding a vintage teapot, 2 cups and saucers, an assortment of teabags, a small sugar bowl, small containers of milk and cream, and a small plate of biscuits. John went to take the tray from her but Meredith was having none of it. She tutted him away then proceeded to arrange everything on a small table near the windows. When she was finished, she bid them both goodnight and reminded them that if they needed anything she would be just downstairs. John thanked her and Sherlock firmly closed the door behind her as she left.

"Well that was tedious." Sherlock remarked.

"Oh come on, she was just being nice. And look, she even brought some biscuits and you know you like those. I'll make your tea; you just sit there and grab a biscuit and hush."

Sherlock meekly sat down and did as he was told, watching John prepare his tea just the way he liked it. But while doing so John heard him mutter under his breath 'And here I thought _she_ was bossy….' John just stopped for a moment and stared at him, then continued to pour his own tea.

"Well sometimes when you act like a child, I have to treat you like one."

Sherlock just blinked at him, then decided to have fun pressing John's buttons a little further. "And _I_ think you just like to boss me around because _Mr. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers _has a thing for being in charge."

John immediately straightened up and glared at him. Sherlock could almost feel the heat radiating off of him and if looks could kill, Donovan could be drawing a chalk outline around him any second.

But instead of being put off by it, Sherlock was enjoying it. He knew that he was usually the one to take charge at the crime scenes, even though John's help was immeasurable. He had always wondered what it would be like to turn control over to someone, even if for a short time. But since everyone he had ever met were complete idiots he never had the opportunity present itself. Plus his mind was always working overtime and he never had anyone that he trusted enough to risk turning it off while with them. But he trusted John, with every fiber in his being. Maybe now was his chance. An experiment…..almost. He didn't want John to think that is what this was going to be so he decided to label it differently in his mind. A trust exercise? That was better. He almost had John right where he wanted him…..just one more push ought to do it. He was just waiting for the opening he needed. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long.

John walked over to where Sherlock was sitting and leaned over him, placing both his hands on the arms of Sherlock's chair, effectively cutting off any reasonable means of escape. He looked him square in the face and said in a low but firm voice, "You will shut your yap, or I will show you just how BOSSY I can be."

Sherlock felt his pulse leap at John's tone. Here was his opportunity, and he wasn't going to waste it.

Sherlock inched his way forward slowly until his lips were mere centimeters from John's ear. He licked his already dry lips, making sure it made the slightest contact with John's earlobe. He fought his grin when he heard John's sharp intake of breath. Dropping his voice to its lowest baritone he intoned, "I'm waiting…._Captain_."

John seemed to suddenly understand the challenge and he wasn't one to back down easily. He quickly pushed Sherlock back in the chair and placed his knee beside him. Sherlock just grinned and John wanted nothing more to wipe that smirk right off his face. He got nose to nose with him.

"You can be a right bastard sometimes, you know that?" Before Sherlock could answer, John cut him off. "Of course you do, because you're the _Great _Sherlock Holmes! Well when I get done with you, you won't be able to deduce a damn thing." Using his most commanding voice he added, "And you _will_ love every minute of it."

He acted like he was going to kiss Sherlock but just as their lips were about to touch, he changed his course and attacked Sherlock's throat. He placed hot open-mouthed kisses until he heard a low rumble from Sherlock, then attached himself until he was sure he left a mark that would take days to fade away. Sherlock went to grab John in response to the pleasure that was traveling up his spine but John was having none of it. He firmly grabbed Sherlock's arms and pinned them to his side. "I didn't say you could touch me. You won't do a damn thing unless I give you permission to do so. Understand?" John watched as Sherlock's pupils blew wide open, barely leaving any of the iridescent colors showing. John felt a thrill at being able to elicit such a response from the man most people had labeled "inhuman" and felt his own pulse quicken.

He straightened back up and went back to his cup of tea. He calmly took a sip and watched as Sherlock pouted like a begging puppy. Every time Sherlock went to protest, John simply raised a finger to him and shushed him. He took another sip or two, and amusedly watched as Sherlock's frustration grew. Once his cup was half empty, he went back over to Sherlock. Sherlock's breathing increased its pace with every step John took towards him. He stopped about 2 feet from him, squared his shoulders and commanded, "Get up."

Sherlock was on his feet within seconds. John just stood there a moment more, deciding which direction he should go next. He decided it was time for a little payback….in his own way, of course.

He pointed towards the bed in the middle of the room and told Sherlock to go lay down. As he walked over to it, Sherlock started to remove his dressing gown, but John stopped him.

"Did I say you could do that?"

Sherlock looked stunned for a moment but left it on anyway. He climbed onto the bed and lay right in the center, making sure to use the pillows to prop himself up where he could watch John's every move. John stood completely still as he watched Sherlock fiddle around. He wanted to make sure Sherlock was good and comfortable, because once he got over there, he wouldn't be moving from that spot for a long time.

Once Sherlock settled himself and looked expectantly at him, John sauntered over to him. He sat lightly on the bed next to him and just watched him, not saying a word. Sherlock just stared right back, but as the silence stretched on so did Sherlock's patience. John however, still looked serene like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Oh for God's sake!" Sherlock finally bellowed. Perhaps he wasn't going to get the outcome he expected out of this.

"What's the matter Sherlock?" John smirked. "Feeling a little…..frustrated? Now you know how I feel."

"What the devil are you talking about?" Sherlock demanded.

"You! For someone who has the most brilliant mind I've ever known, you can be rather thick." He reached over and grabbed Sherlock's hand that was closest to him. For moment he seemed to soften up just a little as he pressed his lips lightly over the pad of Sherlock's pointer finger. "You play the violin so beautifully that it seems to just sing when it's in your hands." Sherlock felt his face grow warm at the unexpected compliment, but was suddenly jolted out of his blush by the sudden feeling of John biting the same pad that he was kissing just a moment ago. "But then you have to be a total git and play it at 3 in the morning when the whole bloody world is trying to sleep! Granted I'm used to it, but our neighbors certainly complain."

Before Sherlock could protest about being bitten, John moved onto the next finger. He softly kissed this one as well. "Then there is the way you conduct your experiments. Always so sure and confident of yourself and your abilities, and your thirst for knowledge knows no bounds." He stopped again to quickly sink his teeth into that finger as well, causing Sherlock to softly yelp. "But then again, you feel the need to leave body parts all over the flat for me to stumble upon! I shouldn't have to move half a corpse out of the way just to reach the damn milk in the morning!"

And so he continued. With each finger he praised Sherlock in one form or another, and then accompanied each one with a quick nip and a remark about some behavior that John found appalling. With each nip, John bit down harder and harder. By the time John moved to Sherlock's other hand, each bite sent a shock down his spine and straight to his groin. Eventually Sherlock kept his eyes shut and listened to John's voice and waited expectantly for each kiss, but was reluctant to admit that it was the bites that excited him the most. He was no stranger to pain, as his past in the drug dens had proven. But at the time, the pain was a necessity to getting his next fix. This time it was different. John was his high, so whatever it would take to get it, he was more than willing to accept.

He was jolting from his musing by the sudden feeling of John straddling his thighs. His eyes flew open and saw the look of John's face. Apparently John had asked him a question that he hadn't heard, and John wasn't happy about it.

"Daydreaming, are we? I guess I need to find a better way to get your attention."

John reached down and slowly pushed his hands under Sherlock's t-shirt and allowed his hands to roam freely. He lightly traced Sherlock's pectorals, allowing his fingertips to lightly graze his nipples. His breath caught once again and John just smirked.

"Glad to see I have your attention again."

He moved his hands lower, tracing the light dusting of hair that circled his navel until they reached the waistband of his pajamas. Sherlock found himself praying that John would continue lower but instead John grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pushed it up until it sat just below Sherlock's chin, exposing his entire torso. The sudden chill of the cool air hitting his heated skin caused gooseflesh to rise immediately.

John leaned down and placed a kiss on Sherlock's sternum. Sherlock wasn't sure what to do with his hands since John apparently wasn't allowing him to touch him, so he kept them clinched at his sides with great effort. As John spread more openmouthed kisses everywhere, his hands clinched tighter and tighter until he was sure he was neigh to drawing blood. Yet he remained as still as possible. But his control completely shattered when he felt John flick his tongue over his right nipple. His hips involuntarily bucked into John and he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

John never lifted his head but Sherlock could feel him smile against his skin. Slowly he turned his attention to the left nipple and Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut to the sensations that were taking over his body. He panted as John's onslaught continued without hesitation. Then he started moving lower….

As John reached his left flank, Sherlock involuntarily flinched away. John paused for a moment, waiting to see if Sherlock was going to ask him to stop. When no words were forthcoming from him, he continued right where he left off. Again, Sherlock flinched and something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle could be heard. John looked at Sherlock incredulously.

"I don't believe it! Are you…._ticklish_?" Sherlock just groaned in response. John reached up and grabbed Sherlock's chin, forcing his eyes to open and look at him. "Answer me." he commanded.

"It….would appear so….John." Sherlock panted.

This was something that John just couldn't pass up. He immediately brought both his hands to Sherlock's sides and began to run his hands up and down to the point where Sherlock couldn't decide whether he wanted to giggle or moan. John scooted himself a little lower until he was sitting astride Sherlock's knees instead of his thighs and while his hands continued their exploration, he started lapping away at Sherlock's lower stomach. Every time Sherlock would try to buck him off or squirm away, he simply held on tighter and quickened the pace of his tongue. Just when he thought Sherlock had enough, he hooked a finger under Sherlock's waistband and lowered both his pajamas and pants just an inch or so. He continued to follow the light dusting of hair until Sherlock thought he would go mad. Once Sherlock felt he had acclimated himself to John's onslaught, John upped the ante by lowered them just a little more and moving into new territory. John continued this pattern until it would only take one more tug to free Sherlock completely. John's mouth watered in anticipation, and Sherlock thought he would surely die before John got to where he was mentally begging him to be.

Finally….FINALLY….John lowered the waistband the final inch and Sherlock sprung free. He groaned low in his throat at finally being released. John felt a moment of nervousness, as he had never done THIS before, but the look of need on Sherlock's face wiped it all away. He mentally prepared himself, then took as much of Sherlock as he could into his mouth.

The sound that was torn from Sherlock's mouth was almost animalistic in nature, and he found he couldn't keep his hands still any longer. He quickly fisted his hands in John's hair and held on for dear life. The warmth and wetness of John's mouth erased all thought from his mind as he gently guided John along his length. He wasn't sure if it was the love he had for John or simply John's inexperience at what he was doing….all he knew was that John was taking him apart at the seams.

Once John realized the effect it was having on Sherlock, it made him even bolder. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard at the tip, causing Sherlock to arch his back to the point of almost completely rising himself off the bed. He rolled his tongue around and around, lavishing the taste and musk that could only come from this man that he loved so completely. He felt Sherlock shudder with each sweep of his tongue and knew that he had to be close. With one final push, he took Sherlock in until the tip rested securely at the back of his throat, and his nose was completely buried in the soft nest of curls that surrounded the object of his attention.

With that final movement, John heard Sherlock shatter all around him. Sherlock called his name as he felt the warmth coat the back of his throat, which he swallowed quickly. When he was sure Sherlock was completely spent, he placed a final kiss on the tip, then climbed back up Sherlock's torso to kiss him on the lips. He meant it to be just a simple quick kiss but Sherlock had other ideas. He kept his hands still firmly fisted in John's hair and licked John's bottom lip until he was granted access. Once allowed, he used his tongue to stroke John's and found that the slightly salty taste that lingered only thrilled him further. Sherlock was still breathing heavily and eventually paused to catch his breath.

"John….that was….I can't…." he panted, finding that he couldn't even put into words what he was feeling at the moment. With a final kiss, John rolled off of Sherlock and settled next to him, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock just looked at him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"I'm resting for a bit, if you don't mind." John laughed. "Don't tell me that you want more already!"

"I'll always be selfish when it comes to you John, but I was thinking that it was my turn to return the favor."

John allowed Sherlock to kiss him this time but thwarted his attempts to take it any further. "I'm not looking for you to return anything Sherlock. Don't think I didn't know what you were doing earlier." Sherlock tried to look innocent but John knew better. "You were trying to get a rise out of me, and you're just mad I beat you at your own game."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and John knew that was as close as he was going to get to Sherlock admitting that he was right. He sat up and tried to detangle Sherlock's feet from the sheets and blankets that had become casualties in their little game. Once straighted, he pulled them up over themselves and allowed Sherlock to curl up next to him and throw a leg over his own. Once settled he could feel Sherlock's heartbeat slowly settle into its normal rhythm. He closed his eyes and let Sherlock's warmth relax him into a sleep that was without dreams, because what he had always dreamed about was with him while he awake.


	28. Saint of a Woman

John woke up later then he intended. The sun was already shining brightly through the windows when he completely opened his eyes. With a groan he pulled the covers over his head, but then decided that he might as well get up. No sense in wasting the rest of the morning.

He sat up and immediately noticed Sherlock's side of the bed cold and empty. Apparently he had been up for some time but hadn't bothered to wake him up. He stretched lazily then prodded over to put on Sherlock's housecoat that was carelessly flung over a chair before making his way downstairs. The sleeves were too long and it hung well past his knees, but it smelled like Sherlock and was comfortable so he tied it tightly, hoping he didn't look too ridiculous. He also noticed that the tray of tea from last night was missing from the table, although a few stray crumbs remained. He brushed them into the waste basket and headed for the door.

He made his way to the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised to see that the water in the kettle was still hot enough for a proper cup of tea. He was looking around for a cup and the tea bags when Meredith entered in from a side door.

"Morning Laddie. Ye sleep well?"

"Very well, thank you. Mind if I ask where the tea fixings are?"

"Ooch, sit ye down and I'll get them for ye. I was coming in for a break m'self so I'll join ye, iffen ye don't mind."

"Not at all. Have you seen Sherlock this morning? He was already gone when I woke up."

Meredith tried to cover her look of knowing by changing the subject immediately while gathering two teacups and other necessities. John, however, noticed immediately.

"Oi, I know that look. What do you know?" he asked in a mockingly guff tone.

"All I know is that he came down 'tis morning and said he had an important errand te run."

"Well that sounds a bit odd but I guess nothing is really ordinary for Sherlock. Did he happen to say when he will be back?"

"Not a peep."

"Well then, I guess that gives me some time to slip out and visit that shop you were telling me about. I still have the card you gave me, somewhere."

Meredith felt a slight jolt a panic. The last thing that needed to happen was for John to stroll into Duncan's shop while Sherlock was already there, doing the exact thing that was on John's mind. She had to find a way to distract him, and quickly.

"D'ya think it's such a good idea to go right now, lad? I'd hate for ye to 'appen to run into him on the street and have some explainin' te do. Why not wait 'till he comes back, then I'll get Brice to occupy him, leaving ye free te shop in peace?" she asked, while handing him a steaming cup. She watched him take a quick sip while debating her words.

"I suppose you're right. I still don't have the slightest idea what I'm looking for. It's not quite like buying a ring for a woman, is it?" he asked with a chuckle. Meredith just shook her head and led them over to a small alcove containing a small table for two and got them situated in the warm sunshine. She thought for a moment, and then set her cup down with a purpose.

"May I make a suggestion?"

"Of course! Please do!"

"We Irish have something called 'fainee Chladaigh'. Ye may have heard it called Claddagh. 'Tis a simple design commonly used on jewelry. 'Tis usually two hands holding a heart, which is then topped with a crown. Th' heart relates te love, th' hands te friendship, and te crown te loyalty. Now, with yer intended being a gentleman an' all, tis would be a simple matter te replace the heart with something more representative of the two of ye. Just ask Duncan when ye see him. I'm sure he can help ye."

John pondered silently for a moment. Maybe it wasn't a bad suggestion. After all, he did plan on asking Sherlock to marry him while they were still in Ireland so it would give the ring extra meaning. He still hadn't worked out the details of how and where yet, but deciding on the ring would be a good first step. He looked up at Meredith and smiled. "Alright. I'll see what he has and ask him about it." Meredith returned his smile then reached over and patted his hand. "There's a good lad. I'm so thrilled for the both of ye."

"Now I just have to plan the rest of it, and I don't have the first idea where to start."

"I'm all ears lad, iffen you want to bounce some ideas. I'm sure we can come up with something."

They chatted away for a least another hour before they heard the front door open and close, announcing Sherlock's arrival. They immediately clammed up and tried not to look like they were holding a guilty secret, although John was pretty sure they were going to fail miserably.

Sure enough, Sherlock came into their line of sight and noticed them immediately. He walked over, looking surprisingly fresh for someone who had been out and about earlier than was his usual custom.

"And what are you two hens cackling about over here?" he asked with a smile.

"A bit of this and that." Meredith answered. She turned her head completely so that John couldn't see her face. "Ye get what ye needed to get done?" she asked with a wink.

"Ah, yes, thank you. You were most helpful."

"And just what was it that you needed to do this morning?" John asked.

Sherlock went into the story that he and Meredith rehearsed that morning, should the subject come up. "Meredith told me this morning that there was a crime committed not far from here last night and apparently the Police here are just as incompetent as they are back home. I asked her for directions to their station and made myself available to help. Actually I solved it for them in less than 20 minutes and inevitably pissed off a few people, but that's nothing new is it?"

John seemed to accept the explanation because he just shook his head. "Honestly Sherlock, we are supposed to be on holiday. Can't you just take it easy for a few days and enjoy yourself for once?" Sherlock looked taken back for a moment as his words.

"Stupidity doesn't take a vacation and neither does crime. Besides I can't let myself go soft. My mind is like a machine that needs constant upkeep or it won't work properly."

"Just a few days Sherlock. That's all I ask. Can't you let it go for just a few days?"

Sherlock just arched an eyebrow at him. "So being a doctor 'on holiday' if you happen upon someone who was injured, would you just turn around and say 'Sorry I'm on holiday?'" John just heaved a sigh, knowing when he was beaten.

"Alright, you made your point. I don't even know why I try to argue with you sometimes."

"Neither do I, but I do happen to find it very entertaining." Sherlock replied with a smirk. "Now if you don't mind, I have a few journals that I purchased yesterday that I'd like to read through for a bit. Coming John?"

"Oh sod off." John mumbled into his teacup as he finished the last sip.

Meredith chose this moment to help John escape. Turning towards him, she made a great show of being non-chalant. "That reminds me. A dear friend of mine lives not but a hop from here and she isna feeling too well. Would it be too much trouble te pop over and make sure it isn't anything serious?" She waited until she got John's full attention before giving him the same small wink she gave Sherlock. John picked up on it immediately.

"Oh! It wouldn't be any trouble at all. Can't let myself 'go soft' can I?" he asked, mocking Sherlock's words. Sherlock caught on to what he was doing and just rolled his eyes. "Just let me pop upstairs and get dressed and I'll be on my way."

"Thank ye lad. I'll just give her ring to let her know te be expecting ye." Meredith said.

John placed his cup in the sink and made his way towards the stairs. As he passed Sherlock he said, "I won't be gone but a bit. You'll be ok? Oh what am I saying? You'll probably have your nose so far in those books that you won't even notice I'm gone." And with that, he was out of sight.

Meredith waiting a few moments more to make sure John out of earshot before asking excitedly, "Did ye get something?"

"I did indeed. Your friend was most helpful, although I must say he is a very interesting character."

"Aye he is. May I see?"

Sherlock reached into his pocket and took out a simple black box. He opened it then handed it to Meredith for her inspection. When she saw it, her breath caught at its' simplistic beauty.

Nestled gently inside was a platinum band that was adorned only with two smaller bands of Onyx around the edges. The sun caught it, causing it to shine brightly. She thought she noticed something so she plucked it out so she could look closer. Sure enough, there was an inscription. She had to squint a little, but easily read the text: 221 Agus Blianta ata le Teacht.

"Ye even got the inscription in Irish!" she exclaimed. "'221 and Years to Come'. Tis beautifully done. What does 221 mean?"

"It's the address of our flat in London."

"I see. Tis a wee odd, but iffen it works for ye…."

"When John became my flatmate I knew right away that he was different. I asked him on a case with me his first day there to test my theory and I wasn't disappointed. Simply put, he not only became my flatmate but the first and only friend that I've ever had. Then it became more. But I am horrible at these types of things. Do you think he'll understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Aye Lad. I think tis perfect. Now put it away before he sees it!"

She shut the box with a pop and handed it back to Sherlock who tucked it safely away again. A moment or so later they heard John's footsteps coming down the stairs. Meredith immediately stood up and excused herself to 'make that phone call'. Sherlock turned around just as John was reaching the bottom of the staircase.

"Would you like me to come with you?" he asked.

"Er, thanks Sherlock but I think I had better go alone. Wouldn't want you upsetting the poor person while they are already feeing bad."

"And just how would I do that?" Sherlock asked indignantly.

"Knowing you, you would probably deduce something embarrassing about them based on something ridiculous like the paint on the walls or their fabric softener. Besides, weren't you eager to read your journals upstairs?"

"Yes but why read the book when I can see it firsthand?" he countered.

"Honestly Sherlock I highly doubt it would be serious enough to merit your interest. Probably not even a 2 on your scale. But I promise, if they have something that could potentially wipe out the human race, you'll be the first to know. Other than them, or course."

"Fine." Sherlock pouted.

"Tell you what. I shouldn't be gone too long. How about we go for a bite when I get back? Then we can shop around some more." He leaned a little closer to Sherlock and lowered his voice. "Perhaps you can find me some more of those red pants you bought for me. You seemed to like them, and they are very comfortable after all."

Sherlock looked surprised, and perhaps a little relieved. "You actually liked them?"

In answer, John lifted the hem of his shirt just enough to show the band peeking out from under the waistband of his jeans. "Would I be wearing them if I didn't?"

Seeing just the hint of red peeking at him had Sherlock's heart skipping a beat or two. He grinned. "All right. But only if you promise to model everything I buy for you when we get back."

John reached up on tiptoe and gave Sherlock a quick kiss. "Deal."

Sherlock had no intention of being satisfied with so fleeting a kiss. He wrapped his hand around the back of John's neck and drew him closer and instantly sealed his mouth with his own. John couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. They instantly broke apart when they heard Meredith approaching. Reaching out she handed John a slip of paper.

"Here's her address. She's expecting ye."

John thanked her and made his way out the front door. As soon as it shut behind him he opened up the piece of paper and read Meredith's neat handwriting.

'I called Duncan and let him know what ye wanted te look at. He's waitin' on ye with his best. Dinna worry about Sherlock. He'll be occupied until ye return. – M'

John shook his head and marveled at what a Saint this woman was turning out to be. But Saint or no, he knew that one old woman would eventually be at her wits end trying to keep him busy. He pulled out the card she had given him yesterday from his pocket, checked the address, and made his way down the street.


	29. Great Minds Think Alike

**Just a quick chapter that I wrote before work. A little filler until I can really sit down and delve deeper. Trust me, it's going to get deeper! **

**I'm adding some links below, showing what my ideas were for their rings. Let me know what you guys think!**

**Sherlock's ring for John:** 00/s/MTAwMFgxMDAw/z/VloAAOSwnDZT-905/$_

**John's ring for Sherlock:** .

John whistled happily as he made his way back from Duncan's shop, a tiny box securely settled in his jacket pocket. He did take Meredith's advice and looked at the Claddagh rings but ultimately decided against it. It just didn't seem to fit Sherlock's personality. He was at times cold and calculating, but he also had his moments of humanity that surprised everyone. He had tried to find something that was simple yet special. Patting his pocket, he felt he had done just that.

After browsing several jewelry cases and being asked countless questions by the colorful gentleman behind the counter, he had finally decided on a band that was platinum and onyx that had a diamond solitaire in the center. He figured that Sherlock wouldn't want something too flashy and the onyx would work well with the countless dark suits he favored. Plus he reasoned that the diamond would represent the bright spot he brought into John's life when they had become flatmates, then became so much more. Maybe he was being a tad overly sentimental about the while thing, but he didn't care. He loved Sherlock and was ready to show the entire world.

As he continued walking through the bustling streets, a flyer posted in a shop window caught his attention. He paused for a better look. They were having some kind of festival taking place for the next few days in the area that included music, food, and an art show. It sounded like something he could convince Sherlock to go to easily enough. He made up his mind right then and there that would be the perfect setting. It also meant that he had some quick thinking to do. He needed to prepare exactly what he was going to say. He already had a few ideas in mind but he wanted it to be absolutely perfect.

He turned back into the gate that surrounded the B&amp;B and decided to go around the back instead of coming in the front door. He was eager to show Meredith what he had purchased and figured that she would be working in her garden this time of day. As he rounded the corner towards the back of the house he could hear faint voices coming from the back of the gardens. He tiptoed along the path so that he could see who they belonged to before he made his presence known. The last thing he wanted to do was accidently spoil his plans by blurting out something and Sherlock overhearing.

Sure enough, there was Sherlock sitting on a bench with a teenager sitting at his feet looking at him with rapt attention, the same young man they were introduced to on their first night here. Brice, wasn't it? He listened closely to see if he could make out what they were saying.

"Try this one: Malic Acid." followed by Brice spitting out a combination of numbers and letters, followed again by Sherlock "Well done." This continued on for several minutes before John realized that Sherlock was quizzing him on some of his studies. Brice looked in awe as Sherlock proceeded to tell him a quick story about some crime he had solved that involved whatever formula they were talking about at that time. He was sure that this was a lesson that Brice would never forget. It also made John reflect on how well he thought Sherlock would do as a father, helping his own son through his studies. That thought had him stopping him in his tracks.

Whoa. Here he was thinking about such things and he hadn't even asked him to marry him yet! Besides, unless the medical field makes some major breakthroughs in the next decade, it's not like they could have one of their own! But the thought warmed him just the same and decided to store that topic away for a much much later date. Who knows? Maybe they could adopt a child? John just shook his head again. Again, a conversation for years down the road.

He turned towards the back of the house and entered in through the kitchen door, looking for Meredith. He called out to her but didn't get an answer. He figured that she was probably busy with something or another and decided to just head on up to their room to put away his treasure.

He opened the door to their bedroom and shed his jacket to hang neatly in the wardrobe when a piece of paper on the table caught his attention. He walked over to see what it was. He was surprised to see a copy of the flyer that he was reading in town sitting there with a handwritten note in the margin. He'd recognize Sherlock's handwriting anywhere.

_**SOUNDS FUN. INTERESTED?**_

'Well then. That was easy.' John mused. He looked at the flyer once again at the times that each event was scheduled; looking for one that would fit what he was planning to do. He thought about the art exhibit but figured that Sherlock would be too busy critiquing each piece on display so that was out. Sherlock wasn't much on eating so that also crossed out food competitions. The last of the events scheduled was a fireworks display over the water. That seemed perfect. He would suggest they walk to a private area where they could watch them in peace from crowds and he could do it then. Now he just had to figure out how to word everything so it didn't sound too cheesy.

He got a small notepad and pen from the bedside table, sat down next to the flyer and began writing.

…..

Sherlock spent the afternoon in the sunshine with Brice going over his studies. He was pleasantly surprised how well the boy seemed to have learned his lessons and was pleased that he took them so seriously. His mind was like a sponge, immediately absorbing everything Sherlock told him and Sherlock couldn't help but think how bright his future seemed to be. He had seen so many young men his age around London doing nothing but causing trouble and being a general nuisance to society. But Brice was different. Perhaps when Uni let out for holiday he could invite Brice to stay with him and John for a bit, perhaps take him on a crime scene or two. He saw someone with an excellent future in forensics. Perhaps he could even introduce him to Molly. Molly was an invaluable help to him in his casework, but if he managed to add Brice to his 'team' then his work with John would be that much better. He made a mental note to ask John on his thoughts about it later. He doubt that John would have any problems with it, more than likely he would agree with idea. But one never knew with John. Besides, if they had a houseguest they would have to curb their 'nightly activities' for the duration of his stay. Sherlock mentally shook his head. Now that he had John he couldn't see going without him for an extended period of time. He decided that they would just have to be creative. Sherlock always did love a challenge.

He had seen John sneaking around the bushes earlier but didn't acknowledge his presence. Obviously John didn't want to interrupt what they were doing so he left it at that. He figured that John had went upstairs to rest, or perhaps even talk to Meredith about how her friend was doing. Either way, John hadn't come back outside for quite some time and it made him wonder. But he had promised Brice that he would help so he stayed until he was satisfied that he knew his lessons inside and out. By the time they were finished he could tell Brice was getting tired. He stood up and reached down to give him a hand to his feet, which he accepted warmly.

"Blimey Mr. Holmes! I cannot thank you enough for your help. It's been a real honor!" he gushed excitedly.

"The pleasure was mine Brice. You are a bright young man, not unlike myself when I was your age actually." He could almost see Brice grow 3 inches at being compared to his hero. "You keep your head in your books and you will do just fine."

Brice shook his hand once again then excused himself to do his remaining chores before Meredith called them for dinner. With that, he hurried off.

Sherlock looked up at the window to the room they were sharing and was surprised to see John sitting at the table near the window. He seemed to be occupied writing something, and then suddenly he balled the paper up and threw it behind him with a frown, frustration written all over his face. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, curious as to what had John seemingly flustered. He decided that he would go and see just what he was up to.


	30. And The Winner Is

As Sherlock walked into the house he paused for a moment to text Mycroft.

_Where is it? You said it would be here by now! – SH_

Only a moment passed before he got his response.

_Patience Dear Brother. You should receive your package this afternoon. – MH_

_I told you I needed it by mid-morning! If it gets here too late it will throw all my timing off. – SH_

_If it doesn't arrive on your impetuous schedule, why not do it tomorrow? Isn't the saying 'Good things come to those who wait'? – MH_

_No, it HAS to be today and I've waiting long enough. – SH_

_Ah, the fanaticism of the newly converted. I just hope poor John knows what he will be getting himself into. – MH_

_Sod off Mycroft. – SH_

_I'll see what I can do to hurry it along. And Sherlock? – MH_

_What? - SH_

_Congratulations. – MH_

_One other thing I may need from you. – SH_

_I shudder to think what it might be. – MH_

_If John decides to accept my offer, he may want to do this traditionally. That being said, would you stand as my Best Man? – SH_

Mycroft stared at his mobile screen and read the last message several times. It was the last thing he had expected Sherlock to ask. He couldn't help but smile to himself as an unfamiliar warm feeling came over him. It seems that his reconciliation with his brother was making excellent progress. He quickly typed his response.

_It would be an honor, Brother Mine. – MH_

He placed his mobile back in his suit pocket and looked at Anthea, who stood waiting patiently. "It seems that I am in need of a new suit." Anthea just nodded with a smile and got to work.

…

John was having a royal fit. His frustration grew along with the pile of discarded papers littering the floor around his chair. He put his head in his hands and sighed. Who knew this would be so difficult? It wasn't like he didn't know what he wanted to say; he just didn't know HOW to say it. He reached blindly and picked up a piece of paper from the floor and uncrumpled it, looking at what he had written then scratched out.

_Sherlock I love you. Marry me?_

_I want to be the sugar in your tea._

_While searching for clues, we found each other._

John groaned aloud. He was going to screw this up and look like an utter git while doing it. Maybe he should just wing it and hope for the best?

The sound of footsteps on the stairs was all the warning John got that Sherlock was about to enter the room. He quickly gathered the mess and put it in wastebasket, then shoved it under the table, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't notice the fact that it was practically overflowing. Yeah right. He would have to distract him.

The door opened and Sherlock entered the room with an inquisitive look on his face. "John, are you alright?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" John answered as evenly as possible.

"You seem…distracted."

"Not at all. I'm fine. Perfectly fine."

Sherlock looked at John like he knew better (which he did, he always did) but decided to let it go, for now. Besides, he had more important things on his mind at the moment. He walked over to the table where John was sitting and picked up the flyer that was still laying there.

"Have you seen this? I thought it could be something we could both enjoy." He remarked casually.

"Yeah. It sounds great. Let me get my jacket and I'll be ready to go."

"No!" Sherlock said, a little too quickly. Getting a strange look from John he cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, it doesn't really start for a little while yet. No point in being too early."

"Alright." John said slowly, clearly not believing a word of what he just said. "What would you like to do in the meantime?"

Sherlock thought quickly and remembered the surprise item he purchased when he went shopping the other day. He walked over to the bedside table and pulled it out from the drawer. A DVD. "Perhaps we could use this to kill some time?" He walked back over to John and handed it to him. John just looked at it in surprise.

"Doctor Who Season 8!" He looked at Sherlock with a laugh. "Why on earth would you have purchased this? The last time I tried to get you to watch it with me you droned on and on about 'ridiculously unscientific' everything was."

"And I meant every word! Honestly John, for a show that is based on Time Travel, they showed absolutely no respect for the theories and research that…."

"It's just a TV show Sherlock! Purely for entertainment!" John interjected feeling exasperated.

"I know. But you seemed to enjoy it regardless of its unrealistic drivel."

"I couldn't call myself a proper Brit if I didn't."

"Well that being said, when I overheard in the shops a few of the other patrons talking about the new season to be starting shortly I remembered that you hadn't quite finished the last one. I thought this would be a nice surprise for you."

"It most certainly is!" John began to immediately rip of the cellophane wrapping. "You'll watch a little with me, yeah?"

Sherlock made a big show of sighing dramatically although he did so with a smile. "Well since you asked me so nicely…."

"Like you really had a choice." John answered with a laugh.

John popped in the DVD while Sherlock made himself comfortable on the bed then John climbed in next to him. A few moments into the episode that John had chosen Sherlock sat up with a start.

"That's not the same Doctor! Did I get the wrong one?" he asked, confused.

"No Sherlock. It's been a while since you watched the show with me and the Doctor has since Regenerated."

"What happened to the idiot with no eyebrows?"

"That was the last Doctor, played by Matt Smith."

"So who is this new guy? A little old, don't you think?"

"That's Peter Capaldi. He's been around for a bit now."

Sherlock just stared. "Well at least he seems to be better than the one in the first episode I watched. The one with the hair."

"The one with the hair?" John echoed, confused.

"The hair!" Sherlock gesticulated wildly. "He wore that ridiculous long coat and spouted French all the time!" Sherlock stood up, grabbed and pointed a candlestick that was sitting nearby as if mimicking a Sonic Screwdriver and shouted "_Allons-y!_"

Realization dawned on John and he instantly dissolved into a fit of laughter. "That was David Tennant. My favorite Doctor, by the way." Staring at Sherlock standing there doing a Tennant impersonation kept him laughing until his sides ached and tears streamed down his face. Sherlock just grinned right back and returned the candlestick to its rightful place. He settled back next to John who was trying his best to regain control of himself. Once he quieted down he elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. "Like you can talk anyway about anyone wearing a 'ridiculous long coat'."

Sherlock faked a pout. "I thought you liked my long coat."

John sighed. "Yes I do. With you flipping your collar and trying to act all mysterious."

Sherlock had the gall to look indignant. "I do not!"

John just kissed him to shut him up and that was the end of that. They finished that episode and were halfway through the next one when there was a knock on the door. Both Sherlock and John sat up immediately.

"Come in." John called.

The door opened enough for a head to poke its way in. It was Brice.

"Sorry to disturb you Mr. Holmes, but funnily enough a package just arrived for you."

Sherlock bolted to the door before John could get up. He opened it enough for John to see Brice hand him a large brown envelope.

"Thank you Brice. I've been expecting this."

Hearing the music from the telly Brice stepped into the room a little further. "You're watching Doctor Who? I love that show!"

John got up. "Yeah?" He thumbed towards Sherlock. "I can't seem to get him into it."

John and Brice chatted away for a few minutes while Sherlock walked towards the window and opened the envelope. He took out the paper enclosed and read over it carefully. Once he was satisfied, he neatly tri-folded the paper and put it in his inner jacket pocket that hung next to John's near the door. He turned towards the conversation and clapped his hands once to get their attention.

"Well that's settled. You ready to go John?"

"Yeah if you are." He pointed towards Sherlock's jacket and paper nestled inside. "What's that all about?"

"Nothing too important John. I asked Molly to keep me up to date with a case I've been working on and she sent me some test results that I had been waiting for." He lied.

"Sherlock…." John said, with a bit of a warning tone in his voice.

"I know, I know. On holiday and all that. Consider it forgotten."

"Where are you headed off to?" Brice asked.

"The local festival." John answered.

"Great! I'll be going later this evening. Maybe I'll see you guys there?"

"Perhaps." answered Sherlock.

"All right. I'll be off now. Got a few more chores I need to finish before Meredith will let me off. See ya!" With that, Brice turned and left.

John walked over to the telly and shut it off. "Well then, time for local fun!"

They both grabbed their jackets and headed out the door.

…

Although Sherlock would never admit it out loud, he was having a surprisingly good time. They had walked through the art displays, stopping to really look at a few that had caught his eye. John had more than his share trying several of the local brews that was offered so he was in an extremely good mood. They also walked through some of the booths offering crafts done by the locals. John saw a handmade afghan that he was sure that Mrs. Hudson would love. Sherlock agreed and the purchase was made with arrangements for it to be delivered to the B&amp;B in the morning.

Night was falling quickly and with it the air had cooled considerably. They continued to walk side by side in companionable silence. John had his hands in his jacket pockets on the pretense that his hands were cold, when in reality he kept fingering the tiny box hidden there. Now that night was here, the firework show would be starting soon and he knew the moment was fast approaching. With every minute he felt his heartbeat quicken. He still hadn't the slightest clue what he was going to say. Maybe he could just hand it to Sherlock and let him deduce everything by the look on his face. But that would be the easy way out. No. He had decided he wanted to do this right, and dammit he was going to try.

A loud voice from a P.A. system somewhere announced that the firework show would be started shortly and for everyone to make their way to a nearby field to observe it clearly. They melted into the crowd with everyone as they made their way.

"Certainly more people here than I expected." Sherlock remarked.

"No more than usual I would expect."

"Easy targets for the local pickpockets."

"Don't even think about it. We're here to have fun." John reminded him.

Sherlock sighed. "Very well."

They got to the field and noticed that many people had spread out blankets to sit on. Adults were carrying on cheerful conversations while children ran and screamed happily. Seeing the picturesque scene before him made John feel peaceful and content.

"Not a lot of space to really enjoy oneself." Sherlock remarked.

"It's all part of the fun."

Sherlock looked around and found a young willow tree sitting towards the side of the field on a small hill. They had a few festival-goers nearby but it wasn't nearly as crowded as the rest of the field. He decided that it would be perfect and pointed it out. "Let's go sit over there." John looked to where he was pointing and agreed.

They made their way through the crowd, stopping here and there to dodge children still playing happily. John continued to smile contently at the children the entire time.

At the tree they sat down underneath, after making sure that the ground was suitably dry. By then night had completely taken over the horizon with only the barest streaks of sunset highlighting the trees. Below them, they could make out the numerous screens from mobiles punctuating the darkness. They sat in silence for a few moments more.

Well, silent on the outside. Inside, John was screaming at himself. _Now is the time! Do it! What are you waiting for? _He looked over at Sherlock who seemed to be scanning the night sky and he assumed that he was just waiting for the show to begin. _It's now or never._ It took a deep breath and turned towards Sherlock.

"Sherlock there's something I need to tell you." he began. Sherlock just replied with a hmmm that didn't sound like he was paying too much attention. "Sherlock, are you listening?"

"You know what's funny, John?" Sherlock asked, like John hadn't even spoken. "A man like myself can look up at the sky and see only the equations and theories of astronomers who have studied such things." John just looked at him dumbfounded, momentarily forgetting what he was about to say.

"Hold on a minute Sherlock. Are you actually sitting there, looking at the stars and talking nonsense? I thought you had no interest in the solar system."

"As it pertains to my work, I still don't." he answered, still staring at the sky. "But I've come to learn recently that I can't always look at things in a purely scientific way, breaking things down into basic parts and equations. In doing so, I almost missed out on something really…." He paused for a moment, and then looked straight at John to finish his sentence, "Beautiful."

John felt a jolt hit him. He had never heard Sherlock speak like this before and wondered where this was going. At any rate, perhaps Sherlock will provide him with just the opening he needed. He waited patiently for him to continue.

"John I see these stars and know that they are just luminous balls of gas burning. What purpose could they hold for us? But people have been seeing them for much more for centuries. Civilizations built their cities and planted their crops based on their positions. I used to think it was utter nonsense. But then I realized that for once I was the one who was seeing, but not observing. After all, the early travelers used them to travel to new lands. They helped them to discover things they couldn't possibly imagine." He shifted so that he was fully facing John before he continued. "You have become like a star to me John. You shine a light for me that has helped me to discover many things about myself that I never realized. For showing me that I wasn't just a freak of nature, I can never thank you enough." He reached into his jacket and pulled out the folded paper and shyly handed it to John. "Please accept this as a token of my gratitude."

As John reached for the paper, Sherlock retrieved his mobile from his pocket and tapped a few buttons to turn on the flashlight feature so that John could see the paper clearly. He watched John's expression as he read the paper, held his breath and waited.

John took the paper from Sherlock's hands as well as the mobile. Shining the light he was able to see exactly what the paper was.

A Certificate. From the International Star Registry. John's eyes widened even more as he read it.

_Star Name Certificate_

_The star located at the celestial coordinates Right Ascension 10h44m27s Declination -59°53m06s in the Celestial Constellation of Carina is now registered in the Star Names Registry as the star named __**John Hamish Watson Holmes**__._

_Registration Date 09/17/12_

John just stared openmouthed and in complete shock. There was no way that Sherlock could have come up with this on his own, and frankly he couldn't care less. He had never been so moved in his entire life. The name kept leaping off the paper at him over and over and it dawned on him exactly what it said. Perhaps it was a mistake? His heart was beating wildly. Without looking up he asked "Um, Sherlock, did they make a mistake with the name?" He heard a rustle beside him but still didn't look up. He still kept reading the name over and over. "Sherlock?" Finally he looked up…..and saw Sherlock holding out an open ring box in his hand.

"If they did John, there is only one way to correct it." he said quietly.

Time stopped.

The noise from the crowd disappeared.

There wasn't anyone else on the planet besides the two of them.

John just stared at Sherlock, not yet totally comprehending what had just happened. Then it hit him. Sherlock just stared right back at him, and John noticed that his hand that was holding the box was shaking ever so slightly.

"What do you say John?" Sherlock continued, ever so quietly. "Will you continue to be by my side, guiding me to be the man I want to be? Will you continue to be my best friend, my star, my guiding light….and my husband?"

John just dropped everything in his hands and lunged towards Sherlock. The mobile landed softly in the grass with the certificate landing gently beside it. Sherlock landed flat on his back with John lying completely on top of him, the ring box on the ground momentarily forgotten. Sherlock looked at him with a grin that threatened to split his face in two.

"I take that as a yes?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh God YES!" John answered.

As he crushed his mouth on Sherlock's the first colorful explosions lit up the night sky bathing them in light. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, fully elated. They kissed passionately until Sherlock felt moisture on his face. He struggled to sit up without having to let John go. John broke away and allowed him up. The next bright flashes of light highlighted John's face which was now damp from tears of happiness. Sherlock had never seen a more beautiful sight. While John struggled to wipe his face and compose himself, Sherlock retrieved the box, plucked the ring from inside, and held it up to John.

"I wasn't sure what style you would prefer. I hope this is acceptable."

John took it from Sherlock's hands and looked closer at it then couldn't stop from laughing.

"What's so funny John?" Sherlock asked. "If you don't like it, we can take it back to the man I bought it from and exchange it."

John just looked at Sherlock. "Let me guess. You got this from a man named Duncan." Sherlock stared in amazement.

"How did you deduce that? Trying to beat me at my own game?"

John laughed and shook his head then grabbed the identical box from his own pocket. He opened it and held it out to Sherlock. "No but it seems that you beat me at mine."

Sherlock stared at the ring. The similarities were undeniable and amazing. "You know, the probabilities of this happening were approximately one in about…."

"Oh shut up!" John interrupted him by kissing him again. After another moment or so, they each took turns placing their chosen ring on the other's hand. They continued watching the remaining fireworks with their hands entwined, the rings reflecting brightly.


End file.
